4 i^^^4 I •• THE MERRY MUSE SOCIETY VERSE 1!Y AMERICAN WRITERS THE MERRY MUSE SOCIETY VERSE BY AMERICAN WRITERS EniTED BY ly ERNEST DE LANCEY PIERSON K.litor of "Society Verse" ; Author of "Shadow of the Rr.r- "A Slave of Circumstances," etc. NE]V AND ENLARGED EDITION CHICAGO. NEW YORK, AND SAN FRANCISCO UELFORD, CLARKE & CO. Publishers London: H. J. Drane, Lovell's Court. Paternoster Row \% -pi M COI'YIJKillT, 1SS9. ];ELFor.D, C'laiikp: s-. (•o:\ii'.\\v TO Mrs. JAMES BARROW ("AUNT FANNY") rKEFA TOR Y XOTE. Thefricndly rcCiptio-n of " Society Verse, by .liiwrircvi Writers,''' has encouraged the editor to prepare this larger and more representative collection, no7C' piddi sited under the title of ' ' The Merry Muse. ' ' In a country -cohere Pan is fast iiecoining a household divinity, it has been found impossible to collect in one volume specimens by all the scholars in this merry school of song. A sufficient selection has been- made to display zvhatever variety of style and subject is to be found in the best vers de societe by American Writers. The rules /hat govern lohat is called the ''Patrician Poetry " of the Old World cannot properly be applied to these lively lyrics of the Avri'. And yet ndiat our aver- age verse lacks in polish and dignity of expression is more than atoned for ly the spirit of native humor that pervades nearly e7\-ry line. It has been thought best not to hold any reserved seats in this symposium of singers. Here broivn heads and gray are grouped democratically, and it is to be hoped amicably , together. May their pleas- ant pipings stir a responsive and sympathetic chord in the public'' s feelings and finances, is the siiicere laish of the subscriber. PR.VE.'^T DE lANCEY PIER SON. xVt'Ti' York, yanuary 12. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS. The editor would ackiiowlcds^e the courtesy of the fol- lowing publishers in allowing the use of valuable copy- rights: — To Messrs Charles Scribuer's Sons, selections from "Airs from Arcady," by H. C. Bunner ; Cassell & Company, selections from " Oberon and Puck," by Helen Gray Cone, and "Pipes from Prairie Land," by Minnie Gilmore ; D. Lothrop & Co., selections from "With Reed & Lyre," by Clinton Scollard, and " Post- l,aureate Idyls," by Oscar Fay Adams ; Ticknor &Co., for selections from "Vagrant Verse," by Charles Henry Webb, and " Songs and Satires," by J. J. Roche ; Roberts and Brothers, for " Proven9al Lovers," by E. C. Stedman, from "The Masque of the Poets"; Henry Holt & Co., selections from "A Midsummer Lark," by W. A. Crofut ; Keppler & Schwarzmann, for verses by C. C. Starkweather, Madeline Bridges. R. K. Munkittrick, Gertrude Hall, and A. E . Wa- trous ; Houghton, Mifflin & Co., for selections from the works of John G. Saxe, Oliver Wendell Holmes, Bret Harte, and Edmvuid Clarence Stedman ; Har- per and Brothers, for " De Convenance, " by Mrs. M. P. Handy, "A Kiss," by Joel Benton and "One of the Pack," by George Parsons Lathrop, in the " Monthly Magazine" ; "The Judge" Publishing Company, for verses by DeWitt Sterry ; Porter and Coates, for se- lections from "Mask and Domino," by David L. Proudfit ; Cupples, Hurd & Co., for selections from " Songs at the Start," Louise Guiney ; The Cosmopoli- tan Magazine Company, for verses by Duffield Osborne and Edith Tupper ; and The Century Company for the following poems from "The Century" Magazine: "Marjorie's Kisses," " Time s Revenge. "and "On the Fly-Leaf of a Book of Old Plays," by Walter Learned: "To MrsCarlyle, " and "The Message of the Rose," by Bessie Chandler ; " Her Bonnet, " by Mary Wilkins ; "The Fair Copyholder, " by Charles Crandall ; " Le Grenier, " by Robertson Trowbridge ; " In Winter, " by Louise Chandler Moulton ; "The Morning After," by Harold Van Santvoord ; "Last July, " by Sophy Lav.-- rence ; "In Arcadia," by R. T. W. Duke; "Two Triolets," by Harrison Robertson ; " Rondeaux of Cities," by Robert Grant ; "On a Hymn Book," by W.J. Henderson ; and "The Critic" Company, for verses by Irving Brown. CONTENTS. Adams, Oscar Fay. I'Ac.e. Where arc the Pipes of Tan i Aldrich, Thomas Bailey. On an Intagho Head of Minerva 3 Austin, Henry. Durant le Diner 6 Bates, Arlo. Love is a Knave 9 Triolet 10 Benton, J(jel. A Kiss by Mistake i i Berg, A. E. Called Back 13 BococK, John Paul. A Candid Proposal 15 To a Friend on his VVeddini^ Day if 6 Brown, Vandyke. A Seaside Incident _ , 18 Browne, Irving. How a Bibliomaniac Binds His Books 20 Bunker, H. C. Yes ? 23 She Was a Beauty 25 Just a Love Letter 26 co.Y ■/•/■:. v/s JJkii)i,i.>.. Madklink. vacv.. Kcluscd 30 llvc-n Up 32 .Mtcrward j^ 1 Icr Logic 34 (Kne, Helen Gray. An Ivory Miniature 35 Ballad of Cassandra Brown 38 tiiANULER, Bessie. The Message of the Rose 41 To Mrs. Carlylc 43 The Stork's Jcrer.iiad 45 > KAKi, Ballaku. Folly , 47 Cra.ndai.l, Charles. The Fair Copy-Ilukkr 4S A Song for the Hickory Tree 49 Crokkl'T, W. a. In Switzerland 51 DUKK, Jr. K. T. W. In Arcadia 54 KYrLNCE, Mar<;aret. All (.)ld Bachelor to an Old .Maid -,(. Kay, Anna Marlv. Rondel 57 Fai'LKNEr, Henry C. Ballade of the Rose 58 Between the Lines 60 Ballade of the Balcony 63 I'KSTI.R, I>AVI|) S. The ( ianie of Chess 65 CO.VTE.VTS. xiii GiLMOKK, MiNNIIi. I'ACE. After the I]:ill 67 A Lost Friend 68 Grant, Roi'.krt. Koiideau u la Boston 70 " " Philadelphia 71 " " Baltimore. 72 " " New York .■ 73 GuiNEY, Louise Imogexe. Private Theatricals 74 Lo and Lii yr Hall, Ruth. Ballade of the Shepherdess 77 Winter's Wooing 7cj Too Learned 80 Hall, Gertrude. Mrs. Golighdy 81 tLvNDY, Mrs. ^L P. Alnaschar 83 De Convenance 85 Harvey, J. C. A Challenge 87 Harte, Bret. Half an Hour Before Supper 88 What the Wolf Really Said to Little Red Riding-Hood ni FIart, Jerome A. A Boutonniere 02 Henderson, W. J. On a Hymn Book 03 Palmistry g5 x,v COyTENT^ Holmes, oi.ivkk Wendkll. vm:\-. My Aunt 97 To the I'ortrait of a Lady loo Aunt Tahitha 102 IIiLURKTH, Charles Loiin. Heart and Hand 104 L.vTHRup, George Parsons. One of the Pack 106 Lawrence, Sophie St. G. Last July 109 Learned, Walieu. Time's Revenijc 1 1 1 ( )n the Fly Leaf of a Book . .f ( )ld Play* 112 Marjorie's Kisses 114 LiMMis, Charles F. My Meerschaums 115 My Cigarette 118 LiDERs, Charles Henkv. A Houtonniere , . . . 120 Deception I2I Matthews, Brani^er. An American Girl 122 Ballade of Adaptation 1 24 NLvRTiN. Edwarii S. .Mea Culpa 126 Infirm 1 29 Moi'LTON, LofisE Chandler. The Ro.-.e She Wore in Winter ijo .V Little Comedy 131 In Winter 1 ^ ^ MlNKITTRICK, R. K. The liallade of the Enga^;ed Vnun^ Man. ... 135 An Old iJeau 137 CONTENTS. XV ()Sli(;KNE, DUFFIELD. I'ACK. PrMsens Regnat 13S To a Corkscrew 139 ri.vrr, DoNN. We Parted at the Omnibus 140 PlERSON, S. H. At Mrs. Millidor's 143 IJallade of Midsummer 146 TlERSON, E. D. Violets 148 Blowing Bubbles 149 Peck, Samuel M. An April Maid 151 A Southern Girl 153 I'ECK, Wallace. Courting an Heiress 155 Peters, Willlvm Theodore. To a Slipper 157 Proudfit, David L. Tatting 1 50 Down the Switchback 161 Roche, James Jeffrey. If 163 Don't 164 RoHERTSON, HaRRLSON. Coquette 1 53 Two Triolets 167 Appropriation i58 Reese, Lizette Woodworth. The Rhyme of a Fan 170 A Rosebud 171 XVI CchV TENTS. Saxe, John C. I'ace. Cloc to Clara 172 A Reasonaljle iVtilio.i 174 ScuLLAKD, Clinton. To a Chinesi,' M il 175 At the Lcttcr-Iiox 1 77 Rose Ix;aves 1 79 Smum, Henry B. At the Church Door 180 My Mausoleum 1S2 A Marriage c\ la Mode 1 83 Smith, S. Decatur. At Har I larhor 185 A Woman's Weapons 187 Si KKRY, Di; Wnr. An Old Glove iSS Si ARK\VK.\TIIER, C. C. Ballade of Barristers 193 Rivals ig2 SlEOMAN, EdMINI) C. l'roveii9al Lovers 193 Tnujours Amour 195 Pan in Wall Street 197 liLTitN, Theodere. French with a Master 201 'rktiWItRIHr.E, RoiHCRTSON. I.e ( irenier 204 TiiM'ER, Korrn S. Understood znCi 'I'vKEi.i., Henry. To a Jaiu-.iese li.iliy ... 207 Mittens 209 Mis. matched ...211 CO.Vl'F.A'TS. xvii Van Santvoord, Harold. The Moniint; Afk-r 213 Wat ROUS, A. E. Her First Train 214 Old Bohemians 216 VVeuh, Charles Henry. Her Name was FcHcc 218 Discarded 219 In the Bay-Window 220 Wilcox, Ella Wiieelek. The Duct 222 Illogical 224 WiLKiNS, Mary !'. Her Bonnet 226 WHERE ARE THE PIPES OF PAN? OSCAR FAY ADAMS. IN these prosaic clays Of politics and trade, When seldom Fancy lays Her touch on man or maid, The somids are fled that strayed Along sweet streams that ran; Of song the world's afraid : Where are the Pipes of Pan? Within the busy maze Wherein our feet are stayed, There roam no gleesome fays Like those which once repaid His sight who first essayed The stream of song to span ; Those spirits all are laid: Where are the Pipes of Pan? WHERE ARE THE /'/PES OF /'AN? Dry now the poet's bays ; Of song-roljes disarrayed He hears not now the praise Which erst those won who ])layfd On pipes of rushes made, Before dull days began And love of song decayed : Where are the Pipes of Pan ? Prince, all our pleasures fade ; Vain all the toils of man ; And Fancy cries dismayed, " Where are the Pipes of Pan ? " ON AN INTAGLIO HEAD OF MINERVA. THOMAS PAILEY ALDRICH. Ty ENEATH the warrior's helm, behold '-^ The flowing tresses of the woman ! Minerva, Pallas, what you will — A winsome creature, Greek or Roman. Minerva ? No ! 'tis some sly minx In cousin's helmet masquerading; If not — then Wisdom was a dame For sonnets and for serenading ! I thought the goddess cold, austere. Not made for love's despairs and blisses ,; Did Pallas wear her hair like ihat ? Was Wisdom's mouth so shaped for kisses ? The Nightingale should be her bird. And not the Owl, big-eyed and solemn ; How very fresh she looks, and yet She's older far than Trajan's Column ! 3 0.\' AN I XT AG LI O HEAD OF MINERVA. The magic haml that carved this face, And set this vine-work round it running, Perhaps ere mighty Phidias wrought Had lost its subtle skill and cunning. Who was he ? Was he glad or sad. Who knew to carve in such a fashion ? Perchance he graved the dainty head For some brown girl that scorned his passion. I'crchance, in some still garden place Where neither fount nor tree to-day is, He flung the jewel at the feet Of Phryne, or perhaps 'twas Lais. liut he is dust; we may not know His happy or unhappy story : Nameless, and dead these centuries His work outlives him — there's his glory ! Hoth man and jewel lay in earth licneath a lava-buried city; The countless summers came and went With neither haste nor hate nor pity. Years blotted out the man, but left The jewel fresh as any blossom. Till some Visconti dug it up — To rise and fall on Mabel's bosom. ON AN INTAGLIO HEAD OF MINERVA. O nameless brother ! See how Time Your gracious handiwork has guarded ; See how your loving, patient art Has come at last to be rewarded. Who would not suffer slights of men, And pangs of hopeless passion also, To have his carven agate stone On such a bosom rise and fall so ' J)UKAXT I.i: DINKR. IIKNRV \V. AlSIIN. Y'< )U ill the sunshine, I in tlic shadow — Jhus we have journeyed our \vhi)lv- lile loii', Vou in the calm of your Eldorado— I in my tempest of sony;. I'ortune 1kI<1 us in et|uai favor When we started with youthful hearts ; Then she jilted me. I fori^ave her. For she left me the li:)vely Arts. Ah ! she coula not of them l>ereave me , They were mine from my first full breath And their sjilendors will never leave me Till the sunset that men call death. Strani^e, in sooth, is the retrospection ! Stranjje the manifold )iarts I played Chasing ever Delight's reflection. Half enamored of .Sorrow's shade I 6 DURA NT Lfi DIXliR. \ci\\ and I — wheat a contrast, truly ! I with passionate, purple veins : V'oii alone in the Ultima Thule Of Frigidity's sordid gains. \ ou a mountainous marvel of money, With your juleps that told of mints : I a vagabond, strange and funny. Called Bohemia's facile Prince. Miser, yours was a shoddy Palace ; Venus and Bacchus held court in mine ; Deeper, I swear, have I drunk Life's chalice. And even the dregs to my taste are fine. All my tears I have turned to laughter-*- Melted like pearls in a nectar bowl. What though nothing may be hereafter. Here, at least, I have had my soul. Ves, I have had it and found it splendid — Psyche, Butterfly, Dream Divine ! What ! So soon must it all be ended ? Double the perfumes and spice the wine. " Sorrow comes in the guise of pleasure ? " Trite, I'm certain, but may be true ; Therefore bring me a broader measure, Bring me a weed of a darker hue. JWRAXT LE DINER You may sncc-r, you ill-savored siniKr ; Wealth and power were denied my wits Still I'm sure (when I've had my dinner) That my misses outmatch your hit>. r>iil what odds, when the play is over, If men fancy you've won the j^amc, Since, thouj^h always you lived in clover \Vc beneatli it will sleep the same .•" LOVE IS A KNAVE. ARLove is a knave. Sweet, to deprive us of repose, Love weaves his schemes ; but naught amiss. We laugh to scorn his threatened woes. And cry, with warmest clasp and kiss. Love is a knave ! 9 TIUOLKT. A R 1.(1 BATES. 1I7KE Ka:.c is l)iit tlircc, Yet coquette.; slvj alrcaily. I can scarcely agree Wej Koic is but three, Wild) her archness I see I Arc the sex born unsteady f- Wee Rose is but three, Yet coquettes she already. A KISS— BY MISTAKE. JOEl, BENTON. T I PON the railway train \vc met- — .She had the softest, bluest eyes. A face you never could forget — "Sixteen " with all that that implies. I knew her once a little girl, And meeting now a mutual friend, ( )ur thoughts and hearts got in a whirl ; We talked for miles without much end. I threw nijf arm around the seat Where, just in front, she sideways sat. Her melting- eyes and face to mect-^ (And no one wondered much at that) For soon the station where she left Would on the sorrowing vision rise, And I at least should feel bereft ; I thought a tear stood in her eyes. She was but kith, not kin of mine ; Ten years had passed since last we met, And when in going she did incline Her face, 'twas natural to forget. A K/SS—BV MISTAKi:. It sccnifd so like a child I kiKw — I met her half way by mistake ; Ami fuming near those eyes of blue, She gently kissed me — by mistake ! She saw her error, and straightway ran With flaming Ijlushes, rosy red ; I should not be one-half a man If thoughts of wrong came in my head In fact, I'd take that very train And travel daily for her sake. If she would only come again And gently kiss me — by mistake ! CALLED BACK. ALBERT KLLKRY BERG. '' I '"HERE'S a lull in this dull Lenten season Of dressing and dancing, et cet. — My tlioughts turn from folly and treason, To one whom I cannot forget ; Your last note is now almost yellow ; We quarreled — the usual way; I smiled upon some other fellow, Because you were flirting with May. And when we went home from the party, Your looks were as cold as the air ; I, too, was reserved, and no hearty Good-night kiss was asked for Mon Cher ! The next day I wrote you a letter Affecting a dignified tone. And told you I thought it were better In future to leave me alone. My pride led nie tlien to deceive you, To tell you my love was all dead, So foolish was I to believe you Would read 'twixt the lines — but instead— CALLED BACK. You thought mc in earnest, and parted, To worship society's calf; liut, Jack, I am now broken-hearted, And you are too tender by half. We have been far too much to each other, To sever for nothing at all, And if you have not found another, \Vhy, then — you arc w elcome to call. There's always a seat at our tabic, A place for you still in my heart; So, Jack, if you think you are able, Corae back and rehearse your old part! A CANDID PROPOSAL. JOHN PAUL BOCOCK. 1 LOVE you, love you ! love you ! ! — yet confess *^ A consciousness of trifling does come o'er me When all the other shapes of loveliness To whom I've said the same thing rise before me. They were, you are, the idol of my heart ; An idol it must have — which must be kissed. Hence That which was once but of my life a part Is now my whole existence. I see a scornful light grow in your eyes, And yet they shine like stars half hid by mists Magnificent ! You are the fairest prize My errant heart e'er fought for in love's lists. You see, I'm candid ; you have bowled me over, And now I drink and dine and bathe in love ; I puzzled half an hour just to discover The perfume of your glove ! But now all empty was this heart of mii>e ; Some woman must be in it. With that rose Give me yourself, and walk into the shrine Its sovereign goddess. In short, I propose — My ! Won't the Johnson-Mowbrays be enraged ! This summer's changed the lot of many a rover — That you and I be genuinely engaged Until the season's over ! 2 i; TO A FRIEND O.V HIS WEDDING DAY. JOHN TAIL HOC(JCK. O O, Henri, you will take the Icaj *^ At which so often you have laughed ; You must have taken many a jieep While Hymen's garden wall you chaflfed! There never was a likely lad Who didn't some time want to marry ; I hear you "have it pretty bad" — Sly dog, you fetched, now you must carry ! No more late suppers at the club, No more the quiet poker party; You've had your outing — there's the rul> — \'uu must keep innings now, my hearty 1 Henceforth the dear domestic hearth Shall light the limits of your vision; I Icnccforlh your dearest joys on earth Be those that once were your derision ! I sec you, Henri, walk the floor, I hear you groan — it must be colic ; I hear a faint infantile roar — Hchold your early morning frolic ! TO A FRIEND ON HIS WEDDING-DA Y. '7 A thousand times I wish you joy, Bright he tlie paths where Hymen's beckoned; Keep a stiff upper lip, my Ijoy, And here's a health to Henri H.! A SEASIDE INCIDENT. VANOYKE liROWN. " \ ^ /IIY, Bob, you dear old fellow, " ' Where have you been these years ? In Egypt, India, Khiva, With the Khan's own volunteers? Have you scaled the Alps or Andes, Sailed to Isles of Amazons ? What climate, Bob, has wrought the change Your face from brown to bronze?" She placed a dimpled hand in mine In the same frank, friendly way; We stood oivce more on the dear old beach. And it seemed but yesterday Since, standing on this same white shore. She said, with eyelids wet, " Good-bye. You may remember. Bob, But I shall not forget." I held her hand and whispered low, " Madge, darling, what of the years — The ten long years that have intervcneil Since, through the mist of tears, 2 I'i A SEASIDE INCIDENT. We said good-bye on this same white beach Here by the murmuring sea ? You, Madge, were then just twenty, And I was twenty-three." A. crimson blush came to her ch^ek, " Hush, Bob," she quickly said ; " Let's look at the bathers in the surf — There's Nellie and Cousin Ned." " And who's that portly gentleman On the shady side of life ? " " Oh, he belongs to our party, too — In fact. Bob, I'm his wife ! "And I tell you, Bob, it's an awful thing, The way he does behave : Flirts with that girl in steel-gray silk — Bob, why do you look so grave ? " " The fact is, Madge — I — well, ahem ! Oh, nothing at all, my dear — Except that she of the steel-gray silk Is the one I married last year." now A i;il:l.I(^MAXIAC lilXDS HIS r.ooKS IKVINC i;kii\vni;. T I) likf my favorite books to hind So that their outward dress To ev^-ry l)iijlioinaniac's mind Their contents should express. Napoleon's life should glare in red, John CaJvin's ijloom in hhie ; Thus Ihey would typify hloodshed And stjur relii^ion's hue. The prizj-rinj^ re'Cord of the jiast Must be in blue and black ; While any color that is fast Would do for Derby track. The Poj)cs in scarlet well m.iy yo ; In jealous j^reen, Othello ; In 1,'ray, Old Age of Cicero, .\nd London Cries in vom the tablet of memory efface me, If you don't mean the Yes of last night. But, unless you are anxious to sec me a Wreck of the pipe and the cu|), In my birthi)Iacc and graveyard, Bohemia — Love, don't give me up ! SHE WAS A BEAUTY. (rondel.) h. c. bunner. O HE was a beauty in the days '^ When Madison was President ; And quite coquettish in her ways- — On conquests of the heart intent. Grandpapa, on his right knee bent, Wooed her in stiff, old-fashioned phrase — She was a beauty in the days When Madison was President. A.nd when your roses where hers went Shall go, my Rose, who date from Hayes, 1 hope you'll wear her sweet content, Of whom tradition lightly says : She was a beauty in the days When Madison was President. JUST A LOVK- LETTER. H. C. BUNNER. Miss Blank — at Blank. Jemima, let it go !" — Austin Dobson. Nkw-Vokk, July 20th, 18S3. Dear Giri. : The town goes on as though It thought you still were in it ; The gilded cage seems scarce to know That it has lost its linnet ; The people come, the jjcople pass ; The clock keeps on a-ticking: And through the hasemcnt plots of grass I'ersistent weeds are jiricking. I thought 'tw(juld never come — the Spring — Since you had left the City ; IJut on the snow-drifts lingering At last the skies took jnty, Then Summer's yellow warmed the sun. Daily decreasing distance — I really don't know how 'twas dc nc Without your kind assistance. 26 JUST A LOVE-LETTEK. Aunt Van, of course, still holds the fort : I've paid the call of duty; She gave me one small glass of port — 'Twas '34 and fruity. The furniture was draped in gloom Of linen brown and wrinkled ; I smelt in spots about the room The pungent camphor sprinkled. I sat upon tlie sofa, where You sat and dropped your thimble — You know — you said you didn't care ; But I was nobly nimble. On hands and knees I dropped, and tried To — well, tried to miss it : You slipped your hand down by your side- You knew I meant to kiss it ! Aunt Van, I fear we put to shame Propriety and precision : But, praised be Love ! that kiss just came Beyond your line of vision. Dear maiden aunt ! the kiss, more sweet Because 'tis surreptitious, You never stretched a hand to meet, So dimpled, dear, delicious. I sought the Park last Saturday ; I found the drive deserted ; The water-trough beside the way Sad and superfluous spurted. juyr A uHE-Li-.n LK I slood wlicic Ilunibuliit gnards the gate Hronze, bumptious, stained, and streaky - There sat a sparrow on his pate, A sparrow chirp and cheeky. Ten months ago ! fen months ago! — It seems a happy second, Against a life-time lone and slow, Hy Love's wild time-piece reckoned — Vou smiled, by Aunt's protecting side, Where thick the drags were massin;;, On one young man who didn't ride, Hut stootl and watched you passing. I haunt Purssell's — to his amaze — Not that I care to eat there ; But for the dear clandestine days When we two had to meet there. Oh ! blessed is that baker's bake. Past cavil and past question ; I ate a bun for your dear sake, And Memory helped Digestion. The Norths are at their Newport ranch ; Van Hrunt has gone to Venice ; I.onmis invites me to the Branch, And lures me with lawn-tennis. O bustling barracks by the sea ! O spiles, canals, and islands ! Your varied charms are naught to me — My heart is in the Highlands ! JUST A LOVE-LETTEK. My paper trembles in the breeze That all too faintly flutters Among the dusty city trees, And through my half-closed shutters : A northern captive in the town, Its native vigor deadened, I hope that, as it wandered down, Your dear pale cheek it reddened. I'll write no more. A vis-a-vis In halcyon vacation Will sure afford a much more free Mode of communication ; I'm tantalized and cribbed and checked In making love by letter: I know a style more brief, direct — And generally better ! RKFUSKl), MADELINE S. IIRIDCES II IV'^*'. tu), " she said, ami firmly j^pnkc ; She ruasoiiL'tl with him like a mother, Ami showed why he should be content To let her love him as a brother. She pictured how the marriage state Is one of tioid)le and confusion ; How love, at best, is but a snare, And plainly sent for man's delusion. lie bowed his head before her llow Of elo(|uence, nor strove to turn it, 15ut meekly hinted that he would The lesson take, and try to learn it. " Farewell, I go lieyond the sea Since I'm refused, no more I'll press you ; Kiiiil Time," he sij^hed, " may heal my pain, Fori.Mve, forget >ne, .Tud God bless you I " 3" REFUS/^D. Slie faltered, pnled, then tossed her head : " I see it will not greatly grieve you ; Vou can't have loved me much," she said : " And )'et. indeed, I did helieve you I " " Besides," with this her fair cheek gained The color his was slowly losing ; " I only said ' no ' once or twice, And — women don't call that refusing/ t " EVEN UP. MADKLINK S. lilUDGES. ii A [Y love," ho said, and parted hack her hair ^ That tossed in golden mists above her eyes ; " Ask me no more, but hear me while I swear You, you alone I love. Will that suffice ? '• I have had fancies — yes, like other men — N'oiith's blood is swift, and youth's warm dreamiiii' re )ves — My heart at last is lixe*"!. Ah ! spare me then These (juestions as to other, earlier loves ! " 'Tis riot for y the tide's caresses. 1 rii.-i^ .''ot kiss you ? 'Tis absunl To scorn the truth all nature traces ! The very breeze, upf)n my word. Stands stilL and kisses both our faces. " (j)uite right," she said, "for breezes, John, I'"or l)utterflies and streamlets, dearest , I notice, tlmui^h, they sunn |)ass on To kiss — tlie next tiling' that comes nearest ! AN IVORY MINIATURE. HELEN GRAY CONE. \ A /HEN State street homes were stately stil When out of town was Murray Hill, In late deceased "old times" Of vast, embowering bonnet shapes And creamy-crinkled Canton crapes And florid annual rhymes, He owned a small suburban seat Where now you see a modern street, A monochrome of brown : The sad " brown brown " of Dante's dreams, A twilight turned to stone that seems To weight our city down. Througl; leafy cliestnuts whitely showed The pillared front of his abode : A garden girt it 'round, Whore pungent box did trim enclose The marigold and cabbage rose, And " pi'ny " heavy crowned. Yea, whatso sweets the changing year's, He most affected. Gone ! but here's AN nOHV MINIATUKI:. His face who loved him so. Old cheeks like sherry, warm and mild; A clcar-hued cheek as cheek of child ; Sleek head a sphere of snow. His mouth was pious, and his nose Patrician ; with which moul 1 there goes A disa(Tected vic.v In those sublime, be-oratored, Spread-eagle days ; his soul deplored So much red-white-and-blue ! In umber ink, with S's long. He left behind him censure strong In stiffost ]ihrnses clothed ! I'.ut time — a jtjcasant jest enough ! — Has turned the tory leaves to buff, The liberal hue he loathed. CJf many a gentle deed he made Brief, simple rccorect, bcfrilled, in neckcloth tall. His senililancc sits, removed from all Our needs and noises new ; Released from all the rent we pay As tenants of the large To-day, Cool, in .n back ground blue. AN irORV MINIATURE. And he heneatli a cherub chijiped I'lump, squamous pinioned, ])outing-hpped, Sleeps calm where Trinity Points fingers dark to clouds that fleet; A warning, seen from surging street, A welcome seen from sea. There fall, ghosts glorified of tears Shed for the dead in buried years, The silver notes of chimes ; And there, with not unrevcrent hand Though light, I lay this " greene garland," This woven wreath of rhymes. TFIE J5AI,LAD OF CASSANDRA DROWN. HELEN GRAY CONE. HOUGH I met her in the summer, wlicn one's heart T hes round at ease As it were in tennis costume, and n man's not hard to please, V'et I think that any season to have met her was to love. While her tones, unspoiled, unstudied, had the softness of the dove. At request she read us poems in a nook among the pines. And her artless voice lent music to the least melotlious lines ; Though she lowered her shadowing Irisho';, in an earnest reader's wise. Yet we caught l>Iue gracious glimpses of the heavens which were her eyes. As in paradise I listened — ah, I did not understand That a little cloud, no larger tlian the average human hand, Miglit, as staled oft in fiction, spread into a sable jiall. When she said that she sliould study I'^locution in the fall! 3b THE BALLAD OF CASSANDRA BROWN. ,j I admit her earliest efforts were not in the Ercles vein; She began with, " Lit-tlc Maayljel, with her faayce against the payne And the beacon-hght a-t-r-r-remblc" — which, aUhough it made me wince, Is a thing of cheerful nature to the things she's rendered since. Having heard the Soulful Quiver, she acquired the Melt- ing Mo-o-an, And the way she gave "Young Grayhead " would have liquefied a stone. Then the Sanguinary Tragic did her energies employ. And she tore my taste to tatters when she slew "The Polish Boy." It's not pleasant for a fellow when the jewel of his soul Wades through slaughter on the carpet, while her orbs in frenzy roll ; What was I that I should murmur ? Yet it gave me grievous pain That she rose in social gatherings, and Searched among the Slain. I was forced to look upon her in my desperation dumb. Knowing well that when her awful opportunity was come She would give us battle, inurder, sudden death at very least, As a skeleton of warning, and a blight upon the feast. I THE BALLAD Oh CASSAND/CA BROH'N Once, ah! once I fell a-dreaniing; some one playctl a polonaise 1 associated strongly with those happier August ilays ; And 1 mused, "I'll speak this evening," recent pangs forgotten quite — Sudden shrilled a scream of anguish : " Curfow shall not ring to-night ! " Ah, that sound was as a curfew, quenching rosy, warm romance — VVero it safe to wed a woman one so oft woukl wish in France ? Oh, as she "cul-limhed" Lliat ladder, swift my mounting hope came down, I am still a single cynic ; she is still Cassandra lirown ! THE MESSAGE OF THE ROSE. BESSIE CHANDLER. He. HE gave me a rose at the ball to-iiiglit, *^ And 1 — I'm a fool, I suppose, For my heart beat high with a vague delight. Had she given me more than the rose? 1 thought that she had for a little while Till I saw her, fairest of dancers, Give another rose with the same sweet smile To another man in the Lancers. Well, roses are plenty, and smiles not rare — It is really rather audacious To grumble because my lady fair Is to other men kind and gracious. Yet who can govern his wayward dreams ? And my dream so precious and bright Now foolish, broken, and worthless seems As it fades with her rose to-night ! She. I gave him a rose at the ball to-night, A deep-red rose, with a fragrance dim. And the warm blood rushed to my cheeks with fright I could not, dared not, look at him. HIE MESSAGE or THE ROSE. For llic depths of my soul lie seemed to scan; Mis earnest look I could not bear ; So I gave a rose to another man Any one else — I did not care. And yet, spite of all, he has read, I know. My message — he could not have missed it For his rose I held to my bosom, so. And then to my lips while I kissed it. TO MRS. CARLYLE. BESSIE CHANDLER. I HAVE read your glorious letters, Where you threw aside all fetters, Spoke your thoughts and mind out freely, In your own delightful style; And I fear my state's alarming, For these pages are so charming That my heart I lay before you, — Take it, Jeannie Welsh Carlyle. And I sit here, thinking, thinking How your life was one long winking At poor Thomas' faults and failings And his undue share of bile. Won't you own, dear, just between us, That this Hving with a genius Isn't after all so pleasant, — Is it, Jeannie Welsh Carlyle ? There was nothing so demeaning In those frequent times of cleaning. When you scoured and scrubbed and hammered In such true housewifely style. TO MAS. CAKLY'LE. And those charming leas and (Unncrs, Graced by clever saints and sinners. Make me lonsj to have been present W ith you, Jcannie Welsh Carlyle. How you fouglit with dugs and chickens, Playing children, and the dickens Knows what else ; you stilled all racket That might Thomas' sleep beguile. How you wrestled with the taxes. How you ground T. Carlyle's axes. Making him the more dependent ( )n you, Jeannie Welsh Carlyle. Througli it all from every ([uarter fileams, like sunshine on the water, ^'our quick sense of fun and humor And your bright, bewitching smile ; .\n(l I own I fairly revel In the way that you say "devil," — 'Tis so terse, so very vigorous, So like Jeannie Welsh Carlyle. All the time, say, were you missing Just a little love and kissing — Silly things that help to lighten Many a weary, dreary while ? Not a word you say to show it, — We may guess, but never know it, — \'uu went quietly on without it. Loyal Jcannie Welsh Carlyle. 3* THE STORK'S JEREMIAD. BESSIE CHANDLER. "/^-^I'^-I^EGGED stork, thou staiidest sad and lonely, .\ tear, nicthinks, I notice in thine eye. Oh, tell to me — yes, whisper to me only — What is the sorrow that I think I spy ? " And lo ! from out the meshes of the tidy There came a feeble, mournful sort of squeak. And, while amazed I opened my eyes wide, he Opened his mouth, and thus began to speak : . " I am so very tired of being artistic ; My life is one long, patient, painful ache ; I am so wearied of these weird and mystic Positions which they force my form to take. ■' In crewels, silks, in worsted and in cotton, Now bladv, now white, now grave, now madly gay. They've worked me ; and one wrong is unforgotten They've done me most and worst in applique. 'Sometimes they plant me 'mid some rushes speary In attitudes no well-bred stork would take. Holding one leg up, till I get so weary I sometimes think my poor strained back will break. ^6 THE STORK'S JEREMIAD. "They AC worked me slamling, running, sleeping, flying : Somclimes I'm gazing at a trcwel sun. They've worked nie every way, I think, but dying ; And oh ! I wisli tliey'd do that and be done I " I could forgive tJiem all this hitler wronging If they would prant one favor, which I beg. Would gratify but once my soul's deep longing. Just to put down my cramped and unused leg. " Know you of any one with sorrows greater ? A creature with a life that's more forlorn ? Hounded forever by the Decorator, I wish, I wish, I never had been born ! " A silence fell ; I gazed ; he had subsided. I listened vainly ; all was dumb and still I'pon the tidy where the stork resided, With upheld leg and red and open bill. FOLLY. BALLARD CRAIG. "PALMS in shadow — a drooping head, Crowned by a Folly's cap of red ; Violet eyes, 'twixt white lids pressed, Fingers fashioned to he caressed, A throat that gleams, in the shadows — white, Lips that tremble and half invite- - And I love her — tenderly — madly ! Yet — She loves not me^ — but to coquette ! And she'd probalily tremble and droop and pose For any other fellows she knows ! The shadow of palms — the lamps turned low, A strain of music— a fountain's flow ; Tender eyes of darkest brown. Before whose passion my eyes look down. Fingers closing over my own, With a touch that straight to my heart has flown And I love him — love him dearly ! Yet — lie's the most outrageous flirt in our set 1 And he looks as tenderly — I suppose. In the eyes of every girl he knows ! 47 Till-: FAIR CoI'V HOLDER. ClIAKI.i:-; 11. rUANli.M.l.. AroN window frames hc-r likt- a saiiil Williin some old cathedral rare ; Perhaps she is not quite so (luainl, And yet I think lier full as fair ! All day she scans the written lines, Until the last dull proof is ended, Caliintj the various words and signs, I!y which each error may hj mended. An intcrcedin;^ angel, she. 'Twixt printing press and author's pen ; Perhaps she'd find .some f.uills in me ! Say, maiden, can you not read men .■' forgive me, gentle girl. Init while You bravely work, I've been rellecting That somewhere in this world of guile There's some one's life needs your correcting. M.-thinks 'tis time you tried this art. Which makes the world's wide page read better J-'or love needs |iroving. heart with heart As well as type with written letter. A SUNG FOR THE IJICKURV TREE. CHARLI-S H. CRANDALL. A SONG for the hickory tree ! While the wind is blowing free, And the golden leaves and silver nuts Drop down for you and me ! As \vc liiiii the nuggets out Prom their crypts with merry shout, The air is filled with perfume distilled l^'rom the spices of the South. A health for the hickory tree ! — Rough-coated, hale and free — For its flesh is white and its heart is bright, And it laughs with you and me ! II. The squirrel says with a wink. '■Fd sing a song, I think, To the girl who stands with snow white hand< And eyes that tkish and blink. •49 50 A SOXG FOR THK HICKORY TREE. "Whose flesh is white and strong, Whose heart is free from wrong, And sound and sweet as the nut at her feet. And better tlinii any song." So, take the song, my queen. For a kiss and a philopcne ! 'Mid the goklen leaves and silver nuts, 1 kneel on the carpet green. IN SWITZERLAND. W. A. CROFFUT. A T Chamouny I woke one morn. Hearing afar an Alpine horn Upon some glacier to the north, And thought, although it rained f(jrlorn, To saunter forth. There, in the hall, outside a door, Waiting their owners, on the floor I saw two shiny pairs of shoes, One pair was eights — or, may be, more ; The other, twos. I wondered who those gaiters wore That such a look of courage bore : They seemed alert and battle-scarred, And all their heels were wounded sore On mountain shard. The lofty insteps spurned the ground As if up high Olympus bound ; The tireless soles were worn away ; The smooth and taper toes were round And retrousse. /.\- sir/ TZERL , \ XD. Sudden my envious thought essayed To count the ccnquest they liad made, And all their pilgrimages view ; CJ'er glen and glacier, gorge and glade, -My fancy flew. 1 saw them thread the IJrunig Pass; I saw them scale the Mer dc (ilace, And Riffleberg, beyond Zermatt ; I saw them mount the mighty mass (Jf (lorncr Grat. I saw tliem climb Dcrnina's height; I saw them bathe in Rosa's light And linger by the fJiessbacli Fall ; I saw them grope in Clondo's night And Miinster Thai ; I saw them find the Jungfrau's head And leaj) the Grimsel gorges dread. And Ixnind o'er Col de Collon's ice; And on Helle Tola's summit tread The edelweiss. The vision shamed my listless mood, Hanishcd my inert lassitude. And fired me with intent sul)linH-; I vowed when sunshine came I w(juld Gu fi^rth and climb. IN SWITZERLAND. With new ambition I arose, IJlessed the foot-gear from lieels to toes (One pair was eiglits ; llic oilier, twos), And thanked the owners brave of those Heroic shoes. IN ARCADIA. R. T. \V. DUKE, JR. F.CAUSE I choose to keep my seat. Nor join the giddy dancers' whirl, I pray you, do not laugh, my girl, Nor ask me why I find it sweet In my old age to watch your glee, — I, too, have been in Arcady. And though full well I know I seem Quite out of place in scenes like this, You can't imagine how much bliss It gives me just to sit and dream, As you flit by me gracefully, IIow I, too, dwelt in Arcady. For, sweetheart, in your merry eyes A vanished summer buds and blows, And with the same bright cheeks of rose 1 see your mother's image rise, Antl, o'er a long and weary track. My buried boyhood wanders back. And as with tear-dimmed eyes 1 cast On your sweet form my swimming glance, I think your mother used to dance IN ARCADIA. 55 Just as you do, in that dead past Long years ago — yes, fifty-three — When I, too, dwelt in Arcady. And in the nuisic's laughing notes I seem to hear old voices ring That have been hushed, ah, many a spring; And round about me faintly floats The echo of a melody I used to hear in Arcady. And yonder youth, — nay, do not blush, — The boy's his father o'er again ; And hark ye, miss ! I was not plain When at his age — what ! must I hush ? He's coming this way ? Yes, I see, — You two yet dwell in Arcady. AN OLD BACHELOR TO AX OLD MAIL). t MARGARET EYTINGE. I .\ early spring the song-birds sing, Tliis is Love's season. Soon shall spread A carpet green before liis feet, And crocuses and snowdrops bring A wreath to crown his lovely head. This is Love's season, — sweet, sweet, sweet! Then, youths and maidens, while yc may. Your sweethearts choose before the light That shines on springtime shall lutrcal. I'or, once that light has passed away, Life knows again no hours so bright, Si) full of gladness, — sweet, sweet, sweet. Now, I believe the birds are wrong, — That is, not altogether right, — Love may with partial eyes behold The sprin;^, but yet, the whole year long lie smiles with tendcrest delight On all true lovers, young and old. And though your early summer's fled, And though my autumn's almost here, . The lilies, blessed with love divine. Shall take the place of roses dead. Will you consent to pluck them, dear. With me, and be my valentine ? 5f' RONDEL, ANNA MAKIA FAY. ^liniENlovc is in lier cyrs Wliat nccil of t.priiu; lor me f A hriglitcr emerald lie> ' )ii hill and vale and lea The azure of the skie> Holds naught so sweet to me ;. When love is in her eyes What need of sprint,^ for me ? Her bloom the rose outvies, The lily dares no plea. The violet's s^lory dies, No flower so sweet can he ; When love is in her eyes What need of spring for nu; ? BALLADE OF THE ROSE. H. C. FAULKNER. '' I '"ELL me, red rose, what you were bid,— * You know her secret ; you she wore Shy, nestling in her hair, half hid By jealous golden curls a score. As waves half timid kiss the shore, Then trcniljle were they bold or no; I kiss you, blushing token, for She loves me, — rose, you tell me so. I softly raise your scented lid, Where, sleeping since some dawn of yore, A crystal dcwdrop lies amid The downy crimson of your core. I am not versed in Cupid's lore ; But so I think her Ijlushing glow Soft guards the love I sue her for. She loves me, — rose, you tell me so. BALLADE OF THE ROSE. And when her hand, in dainly kid, Gave you to me, as ne'er before It fluttered, tried itself to rid Of fetters that it never wore, Wliy trembled she ? My eyes would pour My love in hers, — wliy did she so ? Was it because she hates me, or — She loves me,— rose, you tell me so. i.'emvoy. Rose, come you not ambassador From Cupid's court, to let mc know Love yields at last ? Speak, I implore ! She loves me, — rose, you tell me so. BETWEEN THE LINES. H. C. FAULKNER. " Cr\EAR MR. brown;'— I know she meant " Dear Jack " ; that D witli sentiment Is overweighted. Shy little love ! she did not dare ; That flutter in the M shows where She hesitated. The darling girl ! what loving heed She gives the strokes ; it does not need Great penetration To note the lingering, trusting touch ; As if to write to me were such .\ consolation. " The flowers came ; so kind of you. A tlwusand thanks I " Oh, fie! Miss Prue, The line betrays you. You know just there you sent a kiss ; You meant that blot to tell me this, And it obeys you. " They f^ove iiie sink u happy day. I loi'c them so. .She meant to say, " I5ecausc you sent them." BETWEEN THE LINES. liut tlicn, you bcc, llic page is small ; She wrote in haste — the words — and all, — I know she meant them. " .-// !ii>^/i( I kept ihcm near Die, too, ^litd dreaint of theni,^^ she wrote, "and you," But would erase it. Did she but have one tender thought That perished with the blush it brought. My love would trace it. " This morning all the bads have blmon" That flourish surely is " Your own ; " 'Tis written queerly ; She meant it so. Ah, useless task To hide your love 'neath such a mask As that " Sincerely." " Priidenee." Those tender words confess As much to me as a caress ; And, Prue, you know it. But then, to tease me, you must add Your other name, although you had Scarce space to do it. A dash prolonged across the sheet To close the note ? — the little cheat, — No. When she penned it She meant its quavering length to say That she could write to me for aye, And never end it. RETIVEEN THE LINES. I'lAic I Love is like the flame thai glows Unseen lill, lightly fanned, it grows Too fierce to quell it. Anil mine I All, mine is unconfesscd ; JUit now, — that dash and all IJie rest, — III have to tell it. HAl.LADE OF THE BALCONY. H. C. FAULKNER. Jh. /"^HEEKS tliat are sJiiralo wliite, ^^ Eyes that are deep 7iankin blue, Heart that I fear me is quite Tlardeiiecl as porcelain too. She. Antique, of course, and a fright ! I'orcelain never is new. He. I know this passionless sprite. Sweet Miss Thalia; do you ? Fickle- as May She. And as bright ? He. Dances each night until two, Flirts on the lake by moonlight. a She. Home one must row the canoe. Ah, lovely empress of night ! Maidens must worsliip thee HALLADE OF THE nALCOS'V. lie. I'ooh ! I lianlly tliink this is ritjlil, Sweet Miss Thalia; do you ? SIu. Rut, if it give her delight ? Lovers are sadly too few. He. Vet, if she loved a poor wight. One, I should fancy, would do. She. Yes ; but is not the bold knight Sometimes a laggard to woo ? He. Think you she loves him a mite. Sweet Miss Thalia; do yoi; ? i.'envdy. She. Pray, sir I your arms are too tight '. Hj. Knights kissed their lady-loves true. Shf, •Then I think — mayhap — you — might He. Sweet Miss Thalia, do you ? THE GAME OF CHESS. DAVID S. FOSTER. " I ""WAS stinging, blustering, winter weather * How well I recollect the night ! When Kate and I played chess together. Her beauty in the hearth-fire's light Seemed more Madonna-like and rosy ; The hours were swift, the room was cozy, The windows frosted silvery white. Even now I see that grave face resting Upon the hand, so white and small ; I see that mystic grace, suggesting A painter's dream ; I oft recall Her glance, now anxious, gay, or tender ; The girlish form, complete yet slender, In silhouette against the wall. It was not strange that I was mated. For 'twas my fondly cherished aim. I longed to speak, but I was fated ; The rightful opening never came. I pawned my heart for her sweet favor, With every look some vantage gave her, An so, alas ! I lost the game. TIfE GAME OF CHESS. Since then, by fortune, love, forsaken. Through checkered years I've passed and seen My castles fall, my pawns all taken. My sjiotlcss knights jirovc traitors mean ; And worn with many a check, I wander Like tlie poor vanquished king, and ponder With sadness on my long-lost queen. AFTER THE BALL. MINNIE GILMORE. r\ H, little glove, do 1 but dream I hold thee, So warm, so sweet, and tawny as her hair ? Nay ! from her hand I dared unfold thee, As we went down the stair. She said no word; she did not praise nor blame me; She is so proud, so proud and cold and fair ! Ah ! dear my love, thy silence did not shame me As we went down the stair. Thy dark eyes flashed ; thy regal robes arrayed thee In queenly grace, and pride beyond compare; liut on thy cheek a sudden red betrayed thee. As we went down the stair. O lady mine, some near night will I prove thee ! By this soft glove I know that I may dare Take thy white hand and whisper, "Sweet, I love thee,' As we go down the stair. A LOST FRIEND. MINNIE GII.MORK. \/()UR soul, that for ycnrs I have counleil An open book, read to the end, Is loitered all strange, since a lover Looks out from the eyes of a friend. The white pages now arc turned rosy, The chapters are numbered anew. The old plot is lost, and the hero Who, up to last night, was just you — Just dear old friend Jack, and no other, To-night is a stranger, I vow ; And though I am fain to 1)0 gracious, Tlic truth is, I scarcely know how. Where now is your celibate gospel ? What now of Love's follies and faults ? Refuted last night when your lips, sir, Chassc'cd o'er my cheek in the waltz. Life-faith we swore, friendly fraternal To keep it — ah me ! iialf a year A LOST FRIEND. And I, Chloris now to your Strephon, Accept my new role with a tear, — A tear for the dear old dayc ended, A tear for the friend lost for aye, For careless old comradeship fleeing Forever liefore Love to-day. Dear, read me aright ! Though words falter, And lips prove but dumb, your heart hears The Jack of to-day I love truly. Yet oh for the Jack of old years ! RONDEAUX OF CITIES. kOUEKT GRANT. I. Rondeau A i.a ISoston, ACULTURKD mind ! Before I speak The words, sweet maid, to linge tliy cheek With blushes of tlie nodding rose Tliat on thy breast in l)eauty blows, I |)rithee satisfy my freak. Canst thou read Latin and eke flreek? Dost thou for knowledge pine and peek ? llast thou, in short, as I suppose. A culturcil mind ? Some men rc(|uire a mr.idcn meek Enough to cat at need the Icck ; Some lovers crave a classic nose, A liquid eye, or faultless pose; I none of tliese. I only seek A cultured mind. II. Rondeau A la Philadelphia. A pedigree! Ah, lovely jade ! Whose tresses mock the raven's sliaile, Before I free this aching breast I want to set my mind at rest ; 'Tis best to call a spade a spade. What was thy father ere he made His fortune ? Was he smeared with trade, Or docs he Ijoast an ancient crest — A pedigree ? Brains and bright eyes are over-weighed ; For wits grow dull and beauties fade ; And riches, though a welcome guest, Oft jar the matrimonial nest. I kiss her lips who holds displayed A pedigree. III. Rondeau A la IUltimore. A I'REli Y face ! O maid divine. Whose vowels flow as soft as wine. Before I say upon the rack The words I never can take back, A moment meet my glance with thine. Say, art thou fair ? Is the incline Of that sweet nose an aquiline? Hast thou, despite unkind attack, A i^retty face ? Some sigh for wisdom. Three, not nine. The graces were. I won't repine For want of i^edigree, or lack Of gold to banish Care the black. If I can call forever mine A pretty face. IV. Rondeau A la New-York. A POT of gold ! O mistress fair, With eyes of brown that pass compare. Eve I on bended knee express The love which you already guess, I fain would ask a small affair. Hast thou, my dear, an ample share Of this world's goods? Will thy proud pere Disgorge, to gild our blessedness, A pot of gold ? Some swains for mental graces care ; Some fall a prey to golden hair ; I am not blind, I will confess. To intellect or comeliness ; Still let these go beside, ma chere, A pot of gold. I'RIVATE THEATRICALS. LOUISE IMOGENE GUINEY. \/()U were a haughty beauty, I'oUy, • (That was in the play,) I was the lover melancholy, (That was in the play.) And when your fan and you receded, And all my passion lay unheeded, If still with tenderer words I pleaded, That was in the j)lay ! I met my rival at the gateway, (That was in the play,) And so we fought a duel straightway, (That was in the play.) But when Jack liurt my arm unduly, And you rushed over, softened newly. And kissed me, Polly ! truly, truly. Was that in the play ? LO AND LU. LOUISE IMOGENE GUINEY. ■yy HEN we began this never-ended, Kind companionship, Childish greetings lit the splendid Laughter at the lip; You were ten and I eleven ; Henceforth, as we knew. Was all mischief under heaven Set down to Lo and Lu. Long we fought and cooed together, Held an equal reign. Snowballs could we fire and gather. Twine a clover chain ; Sing in G an A flat chorus 'Mid the tuneful crew No harmonious angels o'er us Taught us, Lo or Lu. Pleasant studious times have seen us Arm in arm of yore, Learned books, well thumbed between us, Spread along the floor; LO AND LU. Perched in pine tops, sunk in barley, Rogues where rogues were few. Right or wrong in deed or jiarley. Comrades, Lo and Lu. Which could leap where banks were wider. Mock the cat-bird's call ? Which preside and pop the cider At a festival ? Who became the finer stoic. Stabbing trouble through, Thrilled to hear of things heroic Oftener, Lo or Lu ? Earliest, blithest! then and ever Mirror of my heart ! Grow we old and wise and clever Now, so far apart ; Still as tender as a mother's Floats our prayer for two; Neither yet can spare the other's " God bless — Lo and Lu ! " BALLADE OF THE SHEPHERDESS. (IRREGULAR.) RUTH HALL. IN the dazzling blue and white of the tiles * As a mirror my dear love's face I spy ; From the mantel tree she looks down and smiles, WJiile my iieart goes up in an answering sigh. It's I am so lowly and she is so high, My bashful hope how could I confess. But an English pug, and yet dare to cry For the love of a china shepherdess ? She leans on the crook — oh, her winning wiles ! From my mistress' lap, where 1 idly lie, I watch, and I wish there were miles and miles (While my heart goes up in an answering sigh) 'Twixt her and that boy with the butterfly. So pretty is he in his peasant dress, And so plain beside him, how should I try For the love of a china shepherdess? HALLADE OF THE SHEPHERDESS. There's an Angora cat my bark reviles, Did I love, mayhap she would make reply; But no ! to the mantel tree's dim defiles (While my heart goes up in an answering sigh) All pos'sible bliss must pass me by, And no one shall ever the secret guess : An unlucky dog is in misery For love of a china shepherdess. l'envoy. Ah, many a wight of more wit than I Is dying to live and living to die — Would give up his heart and his soul — no less For love of a china shepherdess ! WINTER'S WOOING. RUTH HALL. r^EAR heart of mine, true heart of mine, ^""^ 'Tis time o' year for valentine ; Grim Winter doth his silence break Now, love to make, for April's sake ; Wild flov(f'rs entreat her face to greet When she shall come and make all sweet Before the light touch of her feel. Dear heart of mine, own heart of mine, Ah, well may Winter loud repine ! She turns before her suitor bold : He is so old, he is so cold — No ! dear is May, and near is May, He cannot, now, be far away. And so she says old Winter, Nay. Dear heart of mine, sweet heart of mine, Shall love meet love and make no sign ? The weeks they come, the weeks they gb ; Nor Winter's snow nor Summer's glow Can chill the land, can thrill the land. As look of eye and touch of hand May those true souls who imdcrstand ! 7y TOO LEARNED. RUTH IIAI.I.. MA says I am lucky as I can be T(j marry Professor Gaunt, And Pa says he wonders what he can see In a girl like me to want ; And at first no one was prouder than I (His fame is world-wide, you know). But — I must tell some one or I shall die - Nell, it is awfully slow. I thought he'd come wooing like other men, In spite of being so wise, And say he loved me again and again, And praise my hair and my eyes. Hut he talks of things I can't understand, Of fossils and snakes and shells ; He never dreams of holding my hand, Or bringing me caramels. I want a lover to talk of love. Smooth my hair and look at me ; I want him to call me " Darling " and " 1 )ove,' And pull me down on his knee; I waul him to write me foolish rhymes, To give me some little siir])i ise : Well, I can't help it, 1 wish sometimes He wasn't so awfully wise I 80 MRS. GOLIGHTLY. GERTRUDE HALL. '"T^IIE time is come to speak, I think; * For on the square I met My beauteous widow, fresh and pink, Her black gown touched at every brink With tender violet. And at her throat the white crepe lisse Spoke in a fluffy bow Of woe that should perhaps ne'er cease, (Peace to thy shade, Golightly, peace !) Yet mitigated woe. In her soft eye, that used to scan The ground, nor seem to see, The hazel legend sweetly ran, " I could not wholly hate a man For quite adoring me." And when she drew her 'kerchief fine, A hint of heliotrope Its snow, edged with an inky line. Exhaled — from wliich scent you divine Through old regrets new hope. And then her step — so soft and slow, She scarcely seemed to lift MKS. COLIGHTLY. From off the sward her widowed toe, One year — one little year ago ! — So soft yet, yet so swift ; Then, too, her blush, her side glance coy, Tell me in easy Greek, — (I wonder could her little boy Prove source of serious annoy ?) The time is come to speak. ALNASCHAR — New-York. 1887. MviS. M. P. HANDY. 1 A /HERE was I last week? At the Skinners' It's really a nice place to dine : The old man gives capital dinners, And is rather a good judge of wine. The daughters are stylish and pretty Nice girls ! eh ? Don't know them, you say ? Indeed ! That is really a pity ; I'll take you there with me some day. You'll be pleased with the eldest — Miss Carrie ; But Maude's ratlier more in my style. By George ! if a fellow could marry, There's a girl who would make it worth while! But it costs such a lot when you're doubled ; You must live in some style, — there's the rub. Now, a single man isn't so troubled, It's always good form at the club. As to Maude, she'd say yes in a minute, If I asked for her hand, I dare say : Soft, white hand, — if a fortune were in it, I'd ask her to have me today. ALNASC//.\K. Father ricli ? Well, you know there's nu knowing How a man will cut up till he's dead. Have I looked at his tax-list? I'm going To do it ; old hoy, that's well said I IJut even rich fathers aren't willing Always to come down with the pelf; They'll say they began with a shilling, And think you can do it yourself. What's tliat paper, just there ? The IIo»ie Jourual .' What's the news in society, eh? E.NOAGF.n ! Now, by all the infernal — It can't be; pass it over tliis way. Hm ! " ReceiUion, Club breakfast, Grand dinm-r. " We learn that the charming Miss Maude, Youngest daughter of Thomas O. Skinner, Is engaged to George Jones," — He's a fraud ! — ■' Of the firm of Jones, Skinner & Haker. The marriage will take place in May." Hang the girl for a flirt, the deuce fake her! Well, what are ynu laughing at, eh ? DE CONVENANCE. MRS. M. P. HANDY. O (^ glad you are hei-e for the wecKling! I want you to see my trousseau. I'a gave me carte blanche for the outfit, — 'Tis all he need give me, you know. 'Tisn't every girl marries three millions, And so he's as pleased as can he. Here's the dress dear, white satin, Worth's latest, And the flounces and veil real point : see ! The girls are all dying with en\'y. Last summer at Newport, the way They courted the man for his money Was disgusting, I really must say. Oh, Tiffany's keeping my diamonds — I shouldn't feel safe with them here ; I think they will make a sensation ; No bride has had finer this year. Of course we are going to Europe, Tlie state-rooms are taken and all ; How long we shall stay I don't know, but I guess until late in the fall. DF. CON\-ENANCE. When we get back, Til give a grand ])arty. Tlie house he is building up town Will be something superb when it's finished; I wisli the man's name wasn't I'rown! In love with him? Jule ! wliy, you're joking; He's fifty at least, if a day ; But then, he is really in love, dear, — I'm sure I shnll have my own way. You know T was never romantic ; If he wants a pretty ynung wife, Why, I don't object to be petted And worshiped the rest of my life. It's wicked to marry for money ? Oh, yes, but who likes being poor ? Don't they say love flies out of the window Wiien poverty darkens the door ? 1 did come near falling in love once With the handsomest fellow in town. An artist, with nothing but talent — My stars ! how the jiatcr did frown ! But now he's delighted. Three millions * What well-brought-up girl dare refuse ? And the other girls' mothers are wishing Their own daughters stood in my shoes. There's m^ ftanci' wow . See Iris horses ! Perhaps he does look rather grim. And wliat of the other young artist ? Ah, well, we won't talk about him ' A CHALLENGE. JAMES CLARENCE IIAKVEY. a /^OOU-iiight, " he said, and he held her hand, In a hesitatins^ way, jVnd hoped that her eyes would understand What his tongue refused to say. He held her hand and he murmured low ; " I'm sorry to go like this. It seems so frigidly cool, you know. This ' Mister ' of ours, and ' Miss.' " ' ' I thought^perehance ' ' — and he paused to note If she seemed inchned to frown ; But the light in her eyes his heartstrings smote. As she blushingly looked down. She spoke no word, but she piekcd a speck Of dust from his coat lapel ; Si) small, such a wee, little, tiny fleck, 'Twas a wonder she saw so well. Rat it brought her face so very near, In that dim, uncertain light. That the thought, unspoken, was made (|uite clear. And I know 'twas a sweet "Good-night." S7 HALF A.\ HOUR i;i:i'()RE SUITER. URET UAKIK. kk V^< > bile's licrc. your iinkiunvn Dulciin.;i — ihc lady *■ you met on the train — And vou really believe she would know you if you were to meet her as^ain ? '" " Of course, " he replied, '• >he uoukl know me ; there never was womankind yet Forgot the efiect she inspired. She e.\cuses, but doe.'- not forget." • Then you tokl her your love? " asked the elder ; the- younger looked up with a smile ; "I sat by her side half an hour — what else was I doing the while ? '• What, sit by the sitlo of a woman as fair as the sun in the sky. And look somL-ulu-re elbj k't the dazzle (kish back. from your own to her eye ? •• No, I hold that the speech of the tongue be as irank and as bold as the look. And I held up herself to herself — that wa- mure than she got from the book." HALF AN HOUR BEFORE SUPPER. 89 •' Young bluod ! " laughed the elder ; " no doubt you are voicing th'j mode of to-day ; Hut then we old fogies at least gave the lady some chance for delay. •■ There's my wife— (you must know) — we first met ou the journey from Florence to Rome ; It took me three weeks to discover who was she antl where was her home ! " Three more to bj duly presented ; three more ere I saw her again ; And a year ere my romance bc;:^a)i where yours ended that day in the train." " Oh, that was the style of the stage coach ; we travel to-day by express ; Forty miles to the hour, " he answered, "won't admit of a passion that's less." ■' But what if you make a mistake? " quoth the elder. The younger half sighed : "What happens when signals are wrong or switches misplaced? " he replied. "Very well, I must bow to your wisdom," the elder returned, " but submit \ our chances of winning this woman your boldness has bettered no whit. go I/ALF A.V IfOUR III: FORE SUP PER. " W'liy, yijii do not at ljL-.st know licr name, ami what if I try your ideal With something, if not quite so fair, at least more en rrgL- and real ? " Let me find you a partner. Nay, come, I insist — you shall follow — this way. My dear, will you not add your grace to entreat .Mr. Rapid to stay ? ' .My wife, Mr. Rapid — Eh, what I Why, he's gone- yct he said he w.juld come ; ll(jw rude ! I don't wonder, my dear, you arc l)roperly crinist to slop her tears. ON A //l".l/.\' nooK. Jones I gave a good sound chaffing ; Called his sermon dry as bones ; Soon fair Isabel was laughing Said she hated Jones. It was after that I lost you For I needed you no more ; Somewhere — anywhere I tosseil you ; On a closet floor. Reverend Samuel still preaches ; Isabel her past atones. In his Sunday school sh^ teachr^s— Mrs. Samuel Jones. PALMISTRY. W. J. HENDKKSON. /'^II, give mc, Eve, that lily hand — ^^ Nay, slart not with that sucUlcu p.iow See, palmistry I understand ; I'll read these lines before I go. This head-line's full and broad and long,- I know by that to thought you're wed, And carry culture rich and strong Williin that graceful, gold-crown'il hcas.L This line of life is straight and deeji : By that I know your future's fair : Some happiness shall wake from sleep To light your life with blessings rare This licart-linc is so true — ah, will, One knows that looking in your I'ac^ And in your eyes, that truly tell How rich the heart must be in grace. Nay, more I dare not tell, 1 vow ; I can't — j)erhaps you may divine — l!ut ilon't you think, ])ray tell me, now, Your hand fits very well in mine ? y6 MY AUNT. OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES. A TY aunt ! my clear unmarried aunt Long ycar.s have o'er her flown ; Yet still she strains the aching clasp That hinds her virgin zone ; I know it hin-ts her — though she looks As cheerful as she can ; Her waist is ampler than her life, Fi>r life is but a span. My aunt ! my poor deluded aunt I Her hair is almost gray ; Why will she train that winter curl In such a spring-like way ? How can she lay her glasses down And say she reads as well, When, through a double convex lens, She just makes out to spell ? > 97 98 My AUXT Her father — grandpapa ! forgive This erring lip its smiles — Vowed she should make the finest girl Within a hundred miles ; He sent her to a stylish school ; 'Twas in her thirteenth June ; And with her, as the rules required, •'Two towels and a spoon." They braced my aunt against a board. To make her straight and tall ; They laced her up, they starved her down. To make her light and small ; They pinched her feet, they singed her hair, They screwed it up with pins ; — Oh, never mortal suffered more In penance for her sins. So, wdieii my precious aunt was done My grandsire brought her back ; (Hy daylight, lest some rabid youth Might follow on the track) " Ah ! " said my grandsire, as he shook Some powder in his pan, " What could this lovely creature do Against a desperate man ! " Alas ! nor chariot, nor barouche, Ni>r bandit cavalcade. Ml' AUA'T. Tore from llic trcmhlini,^ fatlier's arms His all-accom])lishL'd maid, For her how happy had it been ! And Heaven had spared to me To see one sad, uny;atliered rose On my ancestral tree. TO THE roRlRAIT ()F -A l.ADV." oI.IVKR WKNDKl.I. lIoLMES. "\ UKLL, Miss, I wonder where yuii live, I wonder what's your name. 1 wonder how you came to he In such a stylish frame ; Perhaps you were a favorite child. Perhaps an only one ; Perhaps your friends were not aware You had your portrait done ! Yet you must be a harmless soul ; 1 cannot think that Sin Would caro to throw his loaded dice, With such a stake to win ; I cannot think you wouKUprovoke The pou't's wicked pen. Or make youn^ women Mte their lips, Or ruin fine younj^ men. Pray, diel you ever hear, my love. Of boys that ^o about Who, for a very trillinj.; sum Will snip one's ])icture out ? ro T/rF. roRTRAir of " a lady:' I'm not averse to red and white, IJiit all thiii;j;s have llieii- place ; I think a profile cut in black Wnnld stiit your style of face I I love sweet features ; I will owr. That I sliould like myself To see my portrait on a wall, ( )r bust upon a shelf ; l!ut nature sometimes makes one up Of such sad odds and ends. It really mit/lit he quite as well J lushed up amony one's friends! aUXT TAHITI ia. "I.UKR WKNDKl.l, I |i H.MKS. VUIIATEVER I ) Aunt Taliitha tells mc they never did so. Dear aunt ! if I only could take h?r advice ! lint I like my own way, and I find it so nice ! And besides, I fortjet half the tliinj^'s I am told ; lint tlu-y all will cnnu- hack to me — when I am oM. Il a youth passes by, it may hajjpen, no doubt, He may chance to look in as I chance to look out ; S/ic' would never endure an impertinent stare — It is //<)rr/(/she says, and I mustn't sit there. A u.dk in the moonlight has pleasures, I own. l!ut it isn't quite safe to l)c walking alone; So I t.ike a lad's arm — just for safety, you knov.' — Jiiit Aunt Tabiiha tells me ///ry never did <■). I02 AUNT TABITHA. IIdw wicked wo are, and how s^oud tliey were tlieii ! They kei)t al .inn's len^nli those deteslalile men : What an era of virtue she lived in — but stay — Were the vicn all such ro^rues in Aunt Tabitha's day ? If the men were so wicked I'll ask my papa How he dared to propose to my darling mamma ; Was he like the rest of them? Goodness! Who knows And what shall /say if a wretch should ])ropose? I am thinkini,' if Aunt knew so little of sin, ' What a wonder Aunt Tabitha's aunt must have been : And her grand-aunt — it scares me — how shockingly sa That we girls of to-day arc so frightfully Ijad ! -\ martyr will save us, and nothing else can — Let iitc perish — to rescue some wretched young man ! Though when to the altar a victim I go. Aunt Tabitha'll tell me she never did so ! IILAR'l AM) IIAXIJ. CllAKLKS LOTIN IIll.DUK IH. 0\Vi:i; r, Ici mc rcacl thai little' [uliii rcichaiice 'tis true, us sages say, Tluit tlicrc is w rittcii many a charm 'I'd draw thj future's veil awav. I press llie daiiily liiiLier-tips — 'Tis a i^reliniinary part ; And hold them softly to my lips — Tis a requirement of the art. llere runs the life line, limi; and deep ; I'ew ero-ises on its siu)wy plain ; Ah, seldom, sweet one, may'st thou weep. And seldom know the tou..l» of pain ! And heie the line of wcallii I see, I-ost in a liroader line alt.ive ; I I I know aui^ht that line should he The siijn of true and perfeet love. HEART AND HAND. Ay, hill across the |Kilni il curvrs. And side liy side with lifu it tends ; It never falters, never swerves. And only with the lile it ends. And here aiiuther humbler line I 'Tis that of one wlio loves thee dear ; Sec how it followeth close to thine. Yet dareth not approach too near ! Yet, stay ! they touch — thy Hue with his- Look where the fateful symbols meet 1 Sure tliat conjunction means a kiss ! (-Ml, hasle, fullil the omen, sweet ! ONK (JF THE PACK. i;E()KGE I'ARSONS LATIlRor. T SEE how it is ; I'm one of the pack, A paltry playin^j card, nothins^ more ; V'ou shuffle and ileal, then take me hack, Or toss me to lie where I was before. There arc royal heads at your mimic court, But they fare no better; they're in the same lix ; For you vary the usual order of sport : You take what you please while you play your tricks \o doubt it serves well as a source of fun To match your lovers, this one against that ; ThouLjh perhaps when the evening's amusement is done And tlij i)ack ]nit aside, we sejm rather flat. liut suppose that i)y chance in the dead of the night, Wiien you dream with disdain of our bjint; inert. We should break your repose, rising uji in our might, And declare to vour face that our feelings arc hurt ? Oi\'E OF THE PACK. 107 For, whatever you fancy, we each have a soul. And the rules that apply here arc oddly so i)ianned That while we seem bent Id your lingers's control And are played with, yet we too are taking a hand Don't you sec what a sequence of hearts you may break Willie attempting one mean little trump spot to save ? Or succumb to an equally luckless mistake And let a king go for the sake of a knave ? Does Tom's diamond take you, or is it my heart ? The deuce, after all will perhaps end the race ; Theu again, you may yield to young Algernon Smart, Or the c:)ne-eyed old banker's Cyclopean ace. The game's to be Lottery — so you said — Or Matrimony ? No ! both, I declare, Why, the next thing I know you'll take to old maid And leave me to sorrow and Solitaire. Cross purposes still I This never will do. Yoii'vc began Vingt-et-un ; P m at thirty-one — Just ten years apart. Oh, I wish I knew Some smoother way to make matters run I You change the game like a pantomime And now its euchre, I really believe. For you're trying to cheat me half of the time With a "little joker " — a laugh in your sleeve. Let us end this nonsense ! What do you say ? Leave me out and go on with the rest. k8 (hV/C OF THK PACK. Or (luuw tlij whole heap of cards away, And slake your all on a man as the best. Vou can't manage love according to Hoyle, And your effort to do so you surely would rue ; Besides what's the use of such intricate toil, You shall win all the games if I only win you ! LAST JULY. SOPHIE ST. G. LAWRENCE. HE'S barely twenty, and her eyes *^ Are very soft and very blue ; Her lips seem made for sweet replies, Perhaps they're made for kisses too ; Her little teeth are white as pearl, Her nose aspires to the sky ; She really is a charming girl, And I adored her— last July. We ilanced and swam, and bowled and walked ; She let me squeeze her finger tips ; Entranced I listened when she talked. And trash seemed wisdom from her lijxs. I sent her roses till my purse Was drained, I found, completely dry ; I longed to sing her charms in verse — But all of this was last July. Of course at last we had to part ; 1 saw a tear drop on her check ; I left her with an aching heart, And dreamt about her— for a week. 109 LA SI- JULY Hul out of siglil is out of mind, And bonieliuw, as the time went by, Much fainter I began to find The mcinoi V of that last July. July has come again at last ; With summer gowns the rocks are gay It seemed an echo of the past To meet her on the rocks to-day. She's even fairer than of yore, And — yet I could not tell you why — I find the girl an awful bore — So long it is since last July, TIME'S REVENGE. WALTER LEARNED. \A7MEN I was ten and she fifteen — Ah me, how fair I Uiought her ! She treated with disdainful mien The liomage that I brought lier, And, in a patronizing way Would of my shy advances say: '• It's really quite absurd, you see ; He's very much too young for me." I'm twenty now; she, twenty-five — Well, well, how old she's growing ! I fancy that my suit might thrive If pressed again; Iiut, owing To great discrepancy in age, Her marked attentions don't engage My young affections, for, you see. She's really quite too old for me. ON THE FLY-LEAl- OF A BOOK OF OLD PLAYS. WALTER LEARNED. A T Cato's Head in Russell street ^^ These leaves she sat a-stitching ; I fancy she was trim and neat, Blue-eyed and quite bewitchintj. Before her in the street below. All powder, ruffs, and laces, There strutted idle London l)eaux To ogle pretty faces ; While, filling many a Sedan chair With hoop and monstrous feather, In patch and powder London's fair Went trooping past together. Swift, Addison, and Pope, mayhaj) They sauntered slowly past her, Or printer's boy, with gown and cap, For Steele went trotting faster. For beau nor wit had she a look, Nor lord nor lady minding; She bent her head above this bu.k. Attentive to her binding. OiV THE FL V-LEA F OF A BOOK OF OLD PL A VS. And one stray thread of golden hair, Caught on her nimble fingers, Was stitched within this volume, where Until to-day it lingers. Past and forgotten, beaux and fair ; Wigs, powder, all out-dated ; A queer antique, the Sedan chair ; Pope, stiff and antiquated. Yet as I turn these odd old plays, This single stray lock finding, I'm back in those forgotten days, And watch her at her binding. MARJORIE'S KISSES. WALTER LEARN KI). \/[ ARJORIE laughs and climbs on my knee, ^ And I kiss her and she kisses me. I kiss her, but I don't much care, Because, although she is charming and fair, Marjorie's only three. But there will come a time, I ween, When, if I tell her of this little scene, She will smile and prettily blush, and then I shall long in vain to kiss her again, When Marjorie's seventeen. MY MEERSCHAUMS. CHARLES F. LUMMIS. LONG pipes and short ones, straight and curved, High carved and plain, dark-hued and creamy ; Slim tubes for cigarettes reserved. And stout ones for Havanas dreamy. This cricket on an amber spear Impaled, recalls that golden weather When love and I, too young to fear Heartburn, smoked cigarettes together. And even now — too old to take The little papered shams for flavor — I light it oft for her sweet sake Who gave it, with her girlish favor. And here's the mighty student bowl Whose tutoring in and after college Has led me nearer Wisdom's goal Than all I learned of text-book knowledge. " It taught me ? " Aye, to hold my tongue. To keep a-Hght and yet burn slowly ; To break ill spells about me flung As with the enchanted whiff of Moly ! A/]- MEERSCHAUMS. This narghileli, \\ hose hue betrays Perique from soft Louisiana, In Egypt once beguiled the days Of Tewfik's dreamy-eyed Sultana. Speaking of color, do you know A maid witli eyes as darkly splendid As are the hues tliat rich and slow- On this Hungarian bowl have lilended ? Can artist paint the fiery glints Of this quaint finger here beside it, With amber nail — the lustrous tints, A thousand Partagas have dyed it ? " And this old silver patched affair ? " Well, sir, that meerschaum has its reasons For showing marks of time and wear ; For in its smoke through fifty seasons My grandsire blew his cares away ! And, then, when done with life's sojournin;j, At seventy-five dropped dead one day, That pipe between his set teeth burning ! " Killed him ? " No doubt ! it's apt to kill In fifty years' incessant using — Some twenty pipes a day. And still, On that ripe, well filled lifetime musing, I envy oft so bright a part — To live as hmg as life's a treasure; MV MEERSCHAUMS. 117 To die of — not an aching heart, But — half a century of pleasure ! Well, well ! I'm boring you, no doubt ; How these old memories will undo one — I see you've let your weed go out — That's wrong ! Here, light yourself a new one ! MV CIGARETTE. CHARLES F. I.IMMIS. \/i V cigarette I The amulet Tliat charms afar unrest and sorrow ; The magic wand that far beyond To-day, can conjure up to-morrow. Like love's desire, thy crown of fire So softly with the twilight blending; And ah ! meseems, a poet's dreams Are in thy wreaths of smoke ascending. My cigarette! Can I forget How Kate and I, in sunny weather, Sat in the shade the elm-tree made And rolled the fragrant weed together? I at her side i)eatified. To hold and guide her fmgers willing; She rolling slow the paper's snow, Putting my heart in witli tlv fdling. My cigarette ! I see her yet. The white smoke from her red lips curling, Her dreaming eyes, her soft replies, Her gentle si^hs, her laughter purling! 7' iis .1/1' CICAKKTTE. Ah, (laiiily roll, whose parting soul Ebbs out in many a snowy billow, I too wouki Inirn if I could earn Uj)on her lips so soft a pillow ! Ah, cigarette ! The gay coquette Has long forgot the flames she lighted. And you and I unthinking by Alike are thrown, alike are slighted. The darkness gathers fast without, A rain-drop on my window plashes ; My cigarette and heart are out, And naught is left me but the ashes. A BOUTONNIERK. JKROMK A. HART. A HOUTONNIERE! A dainty thing- ■'' Were I a poet I Avould sing In flowing verse thy beauties rare, O boutonnicre ! The steel-clad knight wore on his crest A ribbon from his lady's breast ; The modern lover still doth wear Her boutoniiiore. A hud from her corsage bouquet. Sonic heliotrope in volute spray, A tendril, too, of niaiden"s-hair — Ah, boutonnicre. Those tendrils wind around mv heart. The rose-bud's ihnrns have luadc nic smart Would I could think thou wcrt no snare. O boutonnicre i DECEPTION. CHARLES HENRY Li'DERS. IT took just a clay to discover That all my precautions were ;///. I loved her — ah ! how I did love her — And, I must confess, love her still. As we walked where the moon lit the woolly White back of each in-coming wave, .She seemed to reciprocate fully The tender afiection I gave. We parted. Last week slie was married : The wedding was private and nice. On leaving, the couple were harried With slippers and handfuls of rice. And now she is back in the city. Installed in the coziest home, With a husband who thinks it a pity An hour from his " precious " to roam, And / — well, I count myself lucky; And need no consoling, for she — The dear little darling, the " ducky " — Was good enough to — marry tnc. AN AMERICAN GIRL. BKANDER MATTHEWS. PHE'S had a Vassar education, And points with pride to her degrees 5 Slie's studied liousehold decoration ; Slie knows a dado from a frieze. And tells Corots from Boldinis ; A J,i(|uenuirt etchiiit(, or a I laden. .\ Whistler, too, perchance might please A frank and free youni^ Yankee maiden. She does not care for meditation ; Within her bonnet are no bees ; She has a t^entle animation. She joins in singing simple glees. She tries no trills, no rivalries, Willi Lucca (now Baronin Riidcn) Witii Nilsson or with Clerster : s]ie'> A frank and free young Yankee maiden. AN AMERICAN GIRL. 123 I'm blessed above the whole creation, Far, far, above all other he's, I ask you for congratulation (Jn this the best of jubilees ; I go with her across the seas Unto what Poc would call an Aiden, — I hope no serpents there to tease A frank and free young Yankee maiden. Princes, to you the western breeze Bears many a ship and heavy laden, What is the best we send in these ? A frank and free young Yankee maiden. THE BALLADE ( )E AI )APTATI()\. I'.RANDEK MATTHEWS. 'T'lIE native drama's sick and dyiiii;. So say the cynic critic crew : The native dramatist is cryin<^ — " Briny me the paste ! Brint; me the glue ! Bring me the pen, and scissors, ton ! Bring me the works of E. Augier ! Bring me the works of V. Sanhm ! I am the man to write a play." For want ot plays the stage is sighing. Such is the song the wide world through -; The native dramatist is crying — " Behold the comedies I Inew ! Behold my dramas not a few ! On German tarccs I can prey. And English novels I can brew ; / am the man to write a play ! " 124 THE BALLADE OE ADA rTATlON. Tlicre is, indeed, wo one denyiiirr That fashion's turned from old to new ; The native dramatist is crying- - "Moliere, good-by ! Shakespeare, adieu I do not think so much of you. Although not had, you've had your day, And for the present you won't do, T am the man to write a play ! " Prince of the stage, don't miss the cue, A native dramatist, I say To every cynic critic, " Pooh ! I am the man to write a play I " MliA CULPA. KDWARD S. MARTIN. np 1 1 IIRE is a thing which in my brain, ' Tiiough nightly I revolve it, 1 cannot in the least explain, Nor do I hope to solve it. While others tread the narrow path In manner meek and pious, Why is it that my spirit hath So opposite a bias ? I had no yearnings, when a lioy, To sport an angel's wrapper ; Nor heard I with tumultuous joy The churcli-frcfiucnling clapper. My action always harmonized With my own sweet volition ; I always did what I devised, But rarely asked permission. I went to school. To study ? No ! I dearly loved to dally. And dawdle over Ivanhoe, Tom Brown, and Charles O'Malley. 8 126 ME A CULPA. ; In recitation 1 was used To halt on every sentence ; Repenting, seldom I produced Fruits proper for repentance. At college later I became Familiar with my Flaccus ; Brought incense to tlie Muses' flame. And sacrificed to Bacchus. I flourished in an air unfraught With sanctity's aroma; Learned many things I was not taught, And captured a diploma. I am not well provided for, I have no great possessions ; I do not like the legal or Medicinal professions. Were I of good repute, I might Take orders as a deacon ; But I'm no bright and shining light, But just a warning beacon. Though often urged by friends sincere To wed a funded houri, 1 cannot read my title clear To any damsel's dowry ; And could to wedlock I induce An heiress, I should falter, For fear that such a bridal noose Might prove a gilded halter. AfEA CULPA. My tradesmen have suspicious grown, My friends are tired of giving ; Upon the cold, cold world I'm thrown To hammer out a living. I fear that work before me lies ; Indeed, I see no option, Unless perhaps I advertise — "An orphan for adoption." INFIRM, EDWARD S. MARTIN. " I WILL not go, " he said, " for well * I know her eyes' insidious spell, And how unspeakable he feels Who takes no pleasure in his meals. I know a one idea man Should undergo the social ban, And if she once my purpose melts, I know I'll think of nothing else." " I care not though her teeth are pearls ■ The town is full of nicer girls ; I care not though her lips are red — It does not do to lose one's head; I'll give her leisure to discover. For once, how little I think of her ; And then, how will she feel ? " cried he. And took his hat and went to see. 129 rilE ROSE SHE WORE IX WINTER. LOUISE CIIANDI.KR MolLTitN. / \ ROSE, so siil)tly sweet, Wli;it tlost thou ill the snow — The time of frost and sleet, Wlieii roses should not l)low — riayiii;^ at sunimc-r so ? When we tliat l>eauty meet, Which nightingales in June Eor love and bliss entreat, With what cold, wintry nnie Shall we thy ])raise cntune ? Afy Rose, so subtly sweet. Thy rose-red li|)s I kiss ; I kneel at thy dear feet. Dear Rose, and do not miss The summer's bygone bliss. 'JO A LITTLE COrvrRDY. LOUISE CHANDLER MOULTON. TSthc world the same, do you think, my dear, As wlieii we walked by the sea together. And the white caps danced and the cliffs rose sheer^ And we were glad iu the r.utuma weather ? You played at loving that day, my dear — How well you told me that tender story — And I made answer, with smile and tear. While the sky was flushed with the sunset's glory Now I shut my eyes, and I see, my dear, That far-off path by the surging ocean — I shut my eyes, and I seem to hear Your voice surmounting the tide's commotion. It was but a comedy slight, my dear — Why should its memory come to vex me ? (';;n it be I am longing that you should appeal And play it again ? My thoughts perplex me. 132 W L/TTLK COMEDY. 'Tis the sea and the shore that I miss, my dear — The sea and the shore, and the sunset's glory — (.)r would these he nothing without you near, To murmur again that fund, old story ? 1 know you now hut too well, my dear — With your heurt as liglit as a wind-lilown kalhcr- Vct somehow the world seems cold and drear Without your acting, this autunui weather. IN WINTER. LOUISE CHANULKR MOl'LTON. (\ T*^ go l>ack to the days of June. Just to be young and alive again, Hearken again to the mad, sweet tune Birds were singing witli might and main South they flew at the summer's wane, Leaving their nests for storms to harrv. Since time was coming for wind and rain Under the wintry skies to marry. Wearily wander by dale and dune Footsteps fettered with clanking chain — Free they were in the days of June, Free they never can be again : l'"etter3 of age and fetters of pain. Joys that fly, and sorrows that tarry — - Youth is over, and hope were vain I'niler the wintry skies to marrv. 133 /.V WINTER Now we chant but a desolate rune — " O to be young and alive again ! " — But never December turns to June, And length of living is length of jmin Winds in the nestless. trees complain, Snows of winter alxiut us tarry, And never the birds come back again Under the wintry skies to marry. Youths and maidens, blithesome and vain. Time makes thrusts that you cannot parry, Mate in season, for who is fain Under the wintry skies to marry ? THE BALLADE OF THE ENGAGED YOUNG MAN. R. K. MUNKITTRICK. /"^H, I am engaged to be married now, ^^^ And fondly dream of the happy day When orange blossoms shall deck her brow ; She's fixed the date for the month of May. And yet to myself I softly say, As her holiday presents go ding-a-ling On the jeweler's flashing crystal tray, " I wish I had put it off till spring ! " As a prince I am merry, all allow ; I'm like a bird in the hawthorn spray. Or a clam when the tide is high, I vow. Or a child with his latest toy at play. Yet I have to think, as I coolly lay My earnings down to hear Patti sing, " Though my lady's an angel in every way, I wish I had put it off till spring ! " 'jfi THE BALLADE OF THE ENGA GED YOUNG MAN. I (iance and I romp and I wonder how I should ever be happy or blithe or gay, Did not Love with his sweets my heart endow — (He endowed when she said she'd be mine for aye) Yet when roses I get, or the bright coupe. And down to the charity ball we wing, I fancy of sense I have not a ray, And wish I had put it off till spring ! Young man, I am neither old nor gray ; But I can inform you of just one thing : y<7«'ll chant, if you get her December " Yea," " I wish I had put it off till spring ! " AN OLD BEAU. R. K, MUNKITTRICK. pULL often I think in my trim swallow-tail, At parties where flowers their fragrance exhale, Of times when my pate was a bower of curls, And I danced with the grandmas of all the dear girls. I look on the charms that their beauties unfold — They seem the same damsels while I have grown old. I feel like white winter without a warm ray ; They look like the roses that blossom in May. But winter may look with its shiver and chill Through the windows at flowers that bloom on the sill, And I may ask Edith with ringlets of jet If she will dance with me the next minuet. I go to all parties, receptions, first nights, I'm a merry old bird in my fanciful flights ; I may look, like the winter, a snowy old thing, But deep in my heart dwells the spirit of spring. I know that I am not as old as I look. My voice has no crack and my back has no crook ; And happy I'd be if May, Maud, and Lucille Would treat me as one who's as young as I feel. PR.F.SKXS KF.dXAT. UUKFIKLD OSBORNE. fJOW often have I asked tliee, clear, If thou didst love but me ? How oft thy whisper in mine ear Hath answered tenderly ? And deftly I tlie truth can trace rii.it in that answer lies, For I do ever see my face Deep pictured in thine eyes. Ah me ! a tale of hroken vows I.-1 riiii;in'j^ mournfully, A I'ird that dwells amonj^ the hou^li: Hath sung a song to me. Think not he sang her heart to win, Trust not her eyes ; beware ! For whosoever looks therein Heholds his likeness there I '38 TO A CORKSCREW. DUFFIELI) OSBORNE. 'yilOU who to burdened brain, and troubled heart Dost wind thy way with gently sinuous art, Slender, and graceful, curled with skill divine ; Mirth, riot, and revelry are ever thine Whose office 'tis to seek and free the captive wnic. Hail ! to thee men below and gods above Attune their lays of homage and of love ; Fair silver ringlet ! thou dost ever cling With truer faitli to peasant and to king Than curls of brown or gold that lovesick poets sing. 139 ' WE PARTED AT THE OMNIBUS. 1)1 >NN I'lATT. "\irE partctl at tlic tnnnibus, I iiL-vcr can fori(ct Your eyes, my dove, like stars aljovc,- with dew were heavy wet ; Vuur iugt^as^c, love, I handed up as the driver rounu>. was full. \'()ur slender hand's sixd)Uttoned ghjve lay nestling soft in mine. Your clinging gown, my sweetest love, in lit was just divine ; ■• Through life, my ])et, I go wiiii thee." I tremlilingly begun. When spoke a derman i)assenger, " Dere's only zeals vor vun." y\y miniature you had, my face all jjaiiited smootli and Mand ; N'liur |)h()t(>, li)ve. you gave me as tlie .igent gave his lumd : ly/i PARTED A r THE OM-VIBUS. 141 " You'll write to me, I knnvv you will, this achiny; heart to ease, Ami ev^Ty line from you will lie "— " Miss, ten cents, if you please." I put you in a corner, aear, to take that dreary ride, I saw a suit of striped tweed close sitting liy your side; With gun and hound from out the town to hunt 'twas going down, I heard a suit of rusty black call stripes a Mr. Brown. With wooden damn the stage-door slammed, and shut me from your sight. My heart went throbbing "all is wrong ! " the agent cried " all right ! " From out my life, you rolled away with unexpected speed , Three trotting hat-racks in the team, a rocker in the lead. The war camfe on, as volunteer my gallant troops I led, And lost a leg at Shiloh, when old Sherman lost his head ; And Brown was there, a sutler bold, resplendent in the blue, He fought for flag and country where the profits did accrue. ,42 /A'--" I'ARTEn AT THE OMNIBUS. Wlic-ii Pcacj licr (l)Wiiy ]niiio:is spread o'er all our land and sea, I >tunii>ed me home a veteran m iih war's sad legacy ; 1 soujjht you, love, to find alas ! no footing left to mc. For General Brown was t(j tlic front, a millionaire was he. 'Twas at a grand re-union giv'n in honor of our cause, The banners waved, the champagne pojiped, I got some wild applause ; 1 saw you enter, sweet ami fair, tlie (ieneral led you down, You leaned to him so lovingly, he called you Mrs. Brown. AT MRS. MILLIDOR'S. SYDNEY HERBERT PIERSON. T WAS down at the Millidors' Thursday,— They receive on that cvenirtg, you know, — And could hardly have chosen a worse day. With the slush, and the rain, and the snow; But the parlors were filled to o'erflowing,— Lots of people you know, I presume, — But I thought it was dull, and was going. When Ethel came into the room. There was Mrs. Fitz-Simmons de Brown there. Who gave such a dinner last fall ; And every one else in the town there. Who's really worth knowing at all : Miss Tinsel, considered a Hebe By people who know or assume — You'd have wondered how ever could she be When Ethel came into the room. There was fat Mrs. Space and a lady (A widow that never wore weeds) Hinting somebody's past was too shady: Miss Slur, sowing venomous seeds; AT MRS. MILLIDOR'S. Miss Wilted, sarcastic and spiteful, Putting Dowager Dash in a fume: How odd they should be so delightful When Ethel came into the room. Of course there were long recitations, Some songs sprinkled in here and there. Not to mention the minor vexations One had to look pleased at and bear ; Spout, primed with those verses from Browning He'll recite till the trumpet of doom : Ah ! he was the only one frowning When Ethel came into the room. A girl with a mournful expression Was speaking a dolorous thing — A horrible sort of confession (3f dead hopes and years taken wing. She had throttled a passion : 'twas fearful How the corpse would stalk out of its tomb; But it seemed, on the whole, rather cheerful When Ethel came into the room. The dowagers' wrinkled old faces (ircw older by ten years or more, The color of costly old laces, The rest not a bit as before. In the air was a sound as the humming Of bees, and a subtle perfume Then I knew ere I looked she was coming, When Ethel came into the room. A T MRS. MILLIDOR-S. But there's always a fly in the ointment, The lute has a rift, as a rule ; Joy brings in its train disappointment, And tears choke the jest of the fool; So I thought of that swell marriage lately, Where gouty old Croesus was groom. As he ambled behind her sedately When Ethel came into the room. BALLADE OF MIDSUMMER. SYDNEY HF.RHERl PIERSON. '"T* 1 1 ROUGH murky panes of dusty glass * Where swarm slow, sleepy flies, I gaze Down on the street. Like burnished brass The stones reflect the sun's hot rays ; I liear tlie heavy-laden drays CJo rumbling throuc^h the dust and dirt; 111 thought I see the cliffs and Ijays At Newport or at Mount Desert. At length upon the brcc/.c-swcpt grass I watch tiie ocean tlirough the haze, And one besides, whose smiles surpass .\11 nature's wiles. The sea-wind plays Among her locks. A nymph who strays, Klue-jcrseycd, in a killed skirt. Ah me ! the hearts she sn.ires and slays .\l Newport or at Mount Desert. 9* Mt- BALLADE OF MIDSUMMER. Time flies no more for me, alas ! He only comes and idly stays, Too warm to make the moments pass And hurry on vacation's days; While tantalizing fancies raise Cool dreams of beaches ocean-girt, Beyond the city's busy maze, At Newport or at Mount Desert. ENVOY. Fate, lead me by those summer ways Where happy mortals dance and flirt. And thou shalt have thy meed of praise At Newport or at Mount Desert. VIOLKTS. KUNKST 1)I-: l.ANCKY I'lKRSoN "inoLl-yrS, dainty .iiul sweet. Horn of tlie dews and the May Nul in tlie dust and the heat 1 leave you to perish to-day. Nay, in the lordliest state Proud shall you go to your rest, Kings could hut envy your fate, Dying to-night on her breast. BLOWIXr, ]!U]51;LKS. ERNEST DK LANCICV JMKRSUN. T CAN see you standing there In your Watteau dress By the tapestry portiere, Firelight on your yellow hair, Daintier I'm sure was ne'er Dresden shepherdess. Laughingly you stooped and blew Bubbles in the air : Globes of irridescent hue, Flashing opals, bright as dew — But my eyes were all on you. (^)acenly, standing there. I, upon that very night, Formed a bubble too, Silvery with your smiles, and bright With your blue eyes' lustrous light That seemed ever to invite t)ne to come and wdj. liLOWIXG BUDULES. Frail my argosy, and fair With delusive hope ; Soon, ah ! soon, to my despair, Learned I when it Inirst in air It was made — as others were — ( )nly /'K<}JU must speed, And who may near her stay. It i-. a wall as stout as stone, Where sweet and cold of face, When 'tis her mood she sits alone Behind its frill of lace. 'Tis covered thick with l)loss(jnis small Red-tinted like the morn ; .\nd he who'd dare to scale tli.it wall Would find each rose a thorn. .Vh, Dolly, iK.lly I we confess, .Vmoni;;st us all tJiure's not a man. ])ut knows he's loved a liltlc less Than your ipiaint silken fan ! 170 A ROSEBUD. LIZKTTK WODDWORIH REESE. 'yilE sad South lurks about her mouth. The North is in lier eyes ; She is the bough with l)loom of snow — The sweetest weather that we know- She is both warm and wise. The sad South tauLjht those tricks of fan. Those dainty, Ohl World ways ; And watching her, wc seem to be In Spain ; gray streets slip to the sea. And roofs are dim with haze. IJut, ah ! her eyes are .Saxon l;>lue ! S;) we must watch again ; Straightway the tall thorn hedges blow, The nightingales sing loud, sing low, TJown some dusk Devon lane. The secret's out. If South and North Be both at Maude's command, Is it great wonder she's so sweet, And sends us poor lads to her feet With one touch of her hand ? CLOE TO CLARA. (A Saratoga Letter.) JOHN G. SAXE. TAKAR (LARA : — I wish you wxrc here: TtiL- prettiest spot upon earth ! With everythinj^ charming, my (kar — l)jaux, badinage, music and mirth ! Such rows of magnificent trees. ( )verhanging such beautiful walk>. Where lovers may stroll, if they please. And indulge i:i thj sweetest of talks I And then, what a gossiping sight I What talk abuut William ami Marry ; Mow Julia was spending last night ; \\\A -cohy Miss Morton should marry ; Dear Clara, Lve happened to see Full many a tea-table slaughter, IJut, really, scandal with tea Is nothing to scandal with water ! 'Tis pleasant t(j guess at the reason — The genuine motive which brings Such all-sorts of folks in the season To stop a few days at the Springs. Somj come to partake of tlie waters. The sensible, (lid-tashioiietl elves, CLOE TO CLARA. Some come to ciisposu of thc-ir (laughters, And some to dispose of — themselves ! Some come to exhibit their faces To new and admiring beholders ; Some come to exhibit their graces, And some to exhibit their shoulders ; Some come to make people stare At the elegant dresses they've got ; Some to show what a lady may wear, And some — what a lady may not ! Some come to squander their treasure, And some their funds to improve ; And some for a mere love of pleasure, And some for the pleasure of love ; And some to escape from Jae old, And some to see what is new ; But most — it is plain to be told — Come here — because other folks do ! And that, I suppose, is the reason Why /am enjoying to-day What's called " the height— of the season" In rather the loftiest way. Good -by — for now I must stop- To Charley's command I resign — So I'm his for the regular hop, But ever most tenderly thine. '73 A UKASOXAIiLK rETITION. JtillN G. SAXE. "\/'()U s;iy, dearest ^irl, you esteem nie, A::il hint uf respectful regard. And I'm certain it wouldn't beseem me Sueli an excellent gift ti> discird. l'>ut even the Graces, you'U own. Would lose half their bjauty ai)arl Ami I'",steem, when she stands all alo'i,- Looks most unbecomingly tart. So grant me, dear girl, this petition : — If I'stcem ere again should come hitlier, 1 11 1 lo keep her in cheerful condition. Let Love come in company with h.r ' • 74 TO A CHINESE IDOL. CLINTON SCOLLARD. /^NCE you ruled, a god divine, ^^ In a sacred shady shrine, Near a river dark as wine, 'Mid the trees ; And to you the mandarins. With their smooth unshaven chins, Prayed absolvence from their sins On their knees. Tiny-footed Chinese maids, With their raven hair in braids, Sought you in your quiet shades 'Neath the boughs; Haply for a thousand years You liehekl their smiles nnd tears, Listened to their hopes and fears And their vows. Now above her escritoire In my lady's pink boudoir, Evev dumbly pining for Lost repose. 176 TO A CHINESE IDOL. You sit stolid, day by day, With your clieeks so thin and gray, Stony eyes and rctroiissi Little nose. Where the sunliglit glinteth o'er Persian rug and pohshed floor, You will frown forevcrmore, Grim as hate; A divinity cast down, Having neither shrine nor crown, Once a god, but now a brown I'aper-weight I AT THE LETTER-BOX. CLINTON SCOLLARD. /'^LAD in the gem of frocks, ^^ By the green letter-box, With her short wavy locks Bound by no fetter, Musing I see her stand, Raise her arm slowly, and Drop from a slender hand One little letter. I can't acquaintance claim. Know not her tender name, Yet will my fancy frame Romances of her. That the neat billet-doux. Perfumed — of creamy hue, So lately lost to view Is to her lover. Somehow I seem to feel That he made strong appeal, Said he'd be "true as steel," Ever her " Harry " '77 173 AT THE LETTER-BOX. But that slie bade liim wait, Called him precipitate, Hinted her happy fate — Never to marry. Tliis is her answer. This, Weighted with woe or bliss (Much in parenthesis Many lines under). Borne from its dark recess, Soon will its all confess ; Will it be " no," or " yes? " — Which one, I wonder ? 10" ROSE LEAVES. CLINTON SCOLLARD. ^ A /I THIN this fragile urn by chance I found them, void of scent and faded, Reminders of a sweet romance That budded, bloomed, and died as ihey did. The years have flown in swallow flight Since last we met, and I incensed h-cr ; Her eyes have lost their laughing light, And Time has long conspired against her. Here let them He — the once admired — A food for idle contemplation. Dead as the passion tliey inspired, The ashes of an old flirtation. AT TIIK CHURCH DOUR. HENRY li. SMITH. ALICE has gone to confession. Wliat has the girl to confess .•" What little idle transgression Causes my sweetheart distress ? Is it lier fondness for dress That needs a priest's intercession, And brings that pensive expression Into her eyes' loveliness ? What has the maid to confess ? Is it some little flirtation, Ending perhaps in a kiss ? Mine be the sin's expiation, If I but shared in its bliss. Is it a trifle like this, Seeking its justification ? Was it a rash exclamation Some one has taken amiss ? Was it a trifle like this ? She who lives always so purely Cannot so gravely transgress. One who can smile so demurely Cannot have much to confess. AT THE CHVRCH DOOR. Let me for pardon address, For I am guiltier, surel}'. Sin your small sins, then, securely If it is I that they bless. Mine be the task to confess. >8i MV .MAUSOLEUM. HKNKV li. SMITH. I T is a crypt, this cabinet ; * A love alTair is buried here ; Its requiem a faint regret, And scented letters for a bier. Its wreaths, dead roses interlaced With memories of ball awA/e/e, While for a headstone I have placed A portrait in a paper-weight. Here lie, as ashes in an urn, .•\ verse or two I learned to quite, The notes 1 liad no heart to l)urn. Our letters, — what a lot we wrote ! — A silken tre.^s of sunny strands, \ ribbon that I used to prize, A glove, — she had such tiny hands, — .V miniature with deep, dark eyes. 'Tis with a smile I view to-day The relics in this cabinet. When Love is dead and laid .away Wc mourn a little, then forget. The verses rpiite have left my mind. Her rose, her glove, her |>itliired eyes, Her letters, are to dust consigned , Their filling epiiajih, " Here — //.v." I8- A MARRIAGE A LA MODE. HENRY l;. SMITH. [I AVE you liLarcl whai they are saying * * O'er the wahmts and the wine, Secrets eagerly betraying Abjut your affairs and mine ? Foe.; and friends receive attention From each chatting beau and belle, And they casually mention That Marie has " married well." " Married well ! " Ah, that's expressive, And from it we understand That the bridegroom has excessive Stores of ducats at command. Is he good ? He lias his vices ! Has he brains ? We scarce can tell. Handsome ? Hardly ! It suffices, If Marie has married well. Does she love him ? Love's a passion, Childish in this latter day. She will dress in height of fashion, And her bills he'll promptly pay. Does he love her ? Wildly, madly ! Since he bought his trotter "Nell," He lias welcomed naught as gladly ; Yes, Marie has married well. i84 A MAKR/AGE A LA MODE. Is she happy ? That's a trifle ; Happiness is bought and sold ; And s!;e readily can stifle Love she used to know of old. Well she knows a heart is broken ; As for her's — she cannot tell ; But her bridal vows are spoken, And Marie has married well. In this game one should give h^pding To the stakes, not gentle arts; And, when diamonds are leading, Where's the use of playing hearts ? I congratulate her gladly ; But the wish I can't dispel That most girls may marry badly, If Marie has married well. AT BAR HARBOR. S. DECATUR SMITH. 'T^IiEY accuse me of flirting with Harry, 4 Who hasn't a cent to his name, And certainly don't mean to marry ; Such slander's a sin and a shame. They say I've been often seen walking With Harry alone on the rocks ; We've been seen on the sand sitting talking, Regardless of custom — and frocks. They say we were walking together The day of that trip to the lake ; And our losing our way in the heather, They're certain was not a mistake. At Rodick's, they frequently mention, When laughter is noisy and loud. We, with care to attract no attention, Slip quietly off from the crowd. One nasty old tabby's reported She saw him one evening last week (Good gracious ! how truth is distorted !) Press a kiss on my too-willing cheek. AT BAR HARBOR Such stories as these are invention ; The truth in them simply is nil. If I have done the things that tliey mention, It wasnU \\\\.\\ Harry — 'twas Will! A WOMAN'S WEAPONS. S. DECATUR SMITH. 'TpHERE'S a smile, and a glance, and a blush, and a sigli ' And perhaps, on occasion, a tear ; Tiiere's a delicate touch of a hand, on the sly, And a flower she may wear when /u'''s near ; There's a note in her voice that but one may awake. And a gleam in her blue (or brown) eye ; There's a kiss on her hp that some fellow may take (Now why the deuce isn't it I ?) ; There's the tur]i of ai ankle, the size of a waist. And the way that she does up her hair ; There's the fit of a glove, and, according to taste, The tint of the dress she may wear ; There are words that are often but semi-expressed, And some are hid others below ; For instance, a " yes " may be frequently guessed Through a clearly reversible " no." Yet her infinite change is her strongest of arms. As the song says, " Fcinine souvent varic ; " But what does she want with such numberless charms, When one of them finishes me ? II* 137 AN OLD GLOVE. DE WITT STERRY. POND girl, these tiny slips of kid Once your dear, dimpled digits hid, And to your elbow pretty They climbed without the least alarm ; Or was it that they thought your arm The fairest in the city ? One finger's gone — the middle right : I use it, dear, when I indite My rhymes by yellow tapers, To shield my finger-nail from ink ; How would you fare if you — just think !- Lived on the comic papers ? That night ! Can I forget that night ? Again I sec the candlelight, And hear rlie rippling laughter ; How many plates I passed between The openings in that tenkwood screen ! How soon 1 followed after I I knew you feigned that stern surprise, I knew it by your twinkling eyes ; Hesidcs, you know yuur chatter 1 88 AN OLD GLCH'E. Fell on a fascinated car That time I bent my lips — my dear, I'll never breathe the matter. But I've grown careless of my loves, And am as bad at crossing gloves As turning off a sonnet. The sight of it just made me grow A trifle warm, my dear, and so I penned these verses on it. BALLADE OF BARRISTERS. (Jrregiilar. ) C. C. SrARK\VEArHi:K. '"T^O the shy, sweet face tliat I saw this morning. * I toss this kiss from my window-sill, And mayhap my j^iartncr will give me warning If I shove not (juicker my gray goose-quill. I've twenty folios yet to fill. So it's Blue Eyes, Down ! till this deed is drawn ; For Maiden Lane's not a lover's lawn, And the rattle of Broadway never is still. I'^om seal and ])r.rchment and dust-covered papers. My thoughts fly Uack to her — w//// nil. 1 lunch at Cable's on laml) and capers, And a secret bu'.n]ier I drain with Phil, And I smile when he leaves me to pay the bill. Oh, it's Blue Eyes, Down ! till this deed is drawn ; For Maiden Lane's not a lover's lawn, And the rattle of Broadway never is still. BALLADE OF BARR/STEKS. tf, My office is no conservatory ; Its walls are like blanks for a clerk to fill ; liut that mignonette, jasmine, and morning-glory The charms of a whole hot-house would kill — In the white vase there, on the window-sill. Hut it's Blue Eyes, Down ! till this deed is drawn ; For Maiden Lane's not a lover's lawn. And the rattle of Broadway never is still. Barristers ! with brief-bags to fill, It's Blue Eyes, Down !till the deeds are drawn ; For Maiden Lane's not a lover's lawn, And the rattle of F)roadway never is still. RIVALS. C. C. STARKWEATHF.R. JENNY, how mnny songs you've chased away! To love, I own, is better far than singing. A host of rhymes surrendered, dear, to-day. Or perished in a peal of laughter ringing. For how am I, l)y any dreamt-of means. To write an Ode to Progress while you're smiling ? Or tell of orange-groves, or dreamy scenes Of distant climes, with your sweet voice beguiling? I've seen the Attic marbles' tinted grace. And swung in hammocks 'neath a palace rafter. But can I match a temple with your face, Or weep for Pan before your mocking laughter? If Pan is dead, you're very much alive ! And my rapt flights you are forever stopping! I must be wary if I'd fill my hive, .•\ndwoothe Muse when you have gone out shopping! PROVENCAL LOVERS. (Aucassin and A^icollctte.) EDMUND CLARENCE STEDMAN. VUITHIN the garden oi Bcaucaire He met her l)y a secret stair ; — The night was centuries ago, Said Aucassin, " My love, my pet, These old confessors vex me so ! They threaten all the pains of hell Unless I give you up, ma bcIlc ; " — Said Aucassin to Nicollette. '• Now who should there in Heaven be To fill your place, w« /r/s douce mie ? To reach that spot I little care ! There all the droning priests are met ; All the old cripples, too are there That unto shrines and altars cling To filch the Peter-pence we bring ; "— Said Aucassin to Nicollette. " There are the barefoot monks and friars With gowns well-tattered by the briers. The saints who lift their eyes and whine : I like them not — a starveling set ! Who'd care with folks like these to dine ? 193 TIk- dIIict road 'twere just a ; wcU That you a:ul I should take, in:i liL'lle ! " Said A'.icassin to Nicolcttc. ' ' To Purgatory I would gi > With pleasant comrades whom we know, Fair scholars, minstrels, lusty Knights Whose deeds the land will not forget, The captains of a hundred fights. True men of valor and degree : Will join that gallant company." — Said Aucassin to Nicollette. •• There, too, arc guests and JDvaiic.- rare. And li^autcous ladies delionair, The pretty dames, the merry brides Who witli their wedded lords coquette And liave a friend or two besides — Aid all in gold and trappings gay. With furs, and crests in vairand gray ; " — Said Aucassin to Nicnllete. ■■ Sweet players on the cithern strings And they who roam the world like kings Arc gathered there so blithe and free ! Pardie ! I'd join them now. my ]iet. If you went also, wu dome niir .' The joys of heaven I'd forego To have you with me there below." — S.iid .\ncassin to .XicoUcttc. TOUJOURS AMOUR. EDMUND CLARENCli STEDMAN. pRITHEE tell mc, Dimple-Chin At what age does Love begin ? Your blue eyes have scarcely seen Summers three, my fairy queen ; But a miracle of sweets, Soft approaches, sly retreats, Show the little Archer there, Hidden in your pretty hair : When did'st learn a heart to win ? Prithee tell me, Dimple-Chin ! " (.)h ! " the rosy lips reply, " I can't tell you if I try. 'Tis so long I can't remember ; Ask some younger lass than 1 ! " Tell, O tell me. Grizzled -Face Do your heart and head keeji pace ? When does hoary I-ove expire. When do frosts put out the fire ? Can its emiiers burn below 195 ufo rOUJOir/iS AMOUR. All that chill DccemhtT snow ? Care you still soft hands to press, Bonny heads to smoothc and bless ? When docs Love give \\\> the chase ? Tell, O tell me, (Inzzle.l-Face ! •• Ah ! " the wise old lips reply. "Youth may pass and streni^th may die ; Hut of Love I can't foretoken : Ask some older sage than I ! '" PA>s IN WALL STREET. KDMUND CLARENCE STEDMAK. JUST where the Treasury's niarl:>le front Looks over Wall Street's mingled nations Where Jews and Gentiles most are wont To throng for trade and last quotations ; Where, nour by hour, the rates of gold Outrival, in the ears of people, The quarter chimes, serenely tolled From Trinity's luidauntcd steeple, — Even here I heard a strange, wild strain Sound high above the modern clamor. Above the cries of greed and gain. The curbstone war, the auction's hammer ; And swift on Music's misty ways, It led, from all this strife of millions, To ancient, sweet-do-nothing days Among the kirtle-robed Sicilians. And as it stilled the multitude. And yet more joyous rose, and shriller, I saw the minstrel where he stood At ease against a Doric pillar : .-98 PA!^ IN U^ALL STREET. One hand ;i droning organ played, The other held a Pan's-pipe (fashioned Like those of old) to lips that made The reeds give out that strain impassioned. Twas Pan himself had wandered here A-strolling through this sordid city, And piping to the civic ear The prelude of some pastoral diltv ! The demi-god had crossed the seas — From haunts of shepherd, nymph, and satyr, And Syracusan times- -to these Far shores and twenty centuries later. A ragged cap was on his head ; Put — hidden thus — there was no doubting That, all with crispy locks o'crsjiread. His gnarled horns w:;re somewlu-re sproutiii \ His club-feet, caicd in rusty shoes. Were crossed, as on some frieze you see them, And trousers, patched of divers hues. Concealed his crooked shank> b;?neath them. He fiHjd the (piivering reeds witii sound. .\ii(l o'er his mouth their changes shifted. •Vnd with his goat's eyes looked around Where'er the passing current drifted : And soon, as on Trinacrian hills The nymphs and herdsmen ran to hear him, Fvi'ii now the tradesmen from their tills. Willi clerk'^ and )>orters. croWiK'il near him. PAN /.V n^-lLL STKK1£T. The hulls and hears toi^cther drew From Jaiinsey Court and New Street Alley, As erst, if pastorals he true. Came beasts from every wootled valley : The i-andom passers stayed to list — A boxer /Egon, rough and merry, A Broadway Daphnis, on his tryst With Nais at the Brooklyn ferry. A one-eyed Cyclops halted long In tattered cloak of army pattern. And Galatea joined the throng, — A blowzy, apple-vending slattern ; While old Silenus staggered out From some new-fangled lunch-house har.dy, And hadj tlu pip^r, with a shout. To strike up Yankee Doodle Dandy I A newsboy and a peanut girl Like little Fauns began to caper ; His hair was all in tangled curl, Her tawny legs were bare and taper ; And still the gathering larger grew. And gave its pence and crowded nigher. While aye the shepherd -minstrel blew His pipe, and struck the gamut higher. O heart of Nature, beating still With throbs her vernal passion taught her PAX JX II -ALL STREET. Even licrc, as on the vine-clad hill, Ur by tlic Arethusan water I New forms may fold the speech, new lands Arise within these ocean-portals lint Music waves eternal wands, — Enchantress of the souls of mortals ! So thought I — but among us trod A man in blue, v/ith legal baton, And scoffed the vagrant demi-god, And pushed him from the step I sat on. Doubting I mused upon the cry, " Great Pan is dead ! "—and all the jjcopie Went on their ways : — and clear and high The quarter sounded from the steeple. FRENCH WITH A MASTER. THEtlUOKE TILTON. yEACH you French ? I will, my dear Sit and con your lesson here, What did Adam say to Eve ? Ai/)ur, aiiiwr ; c\'st a vivrc. Don't pronounce the last word long ; Make it short to suit the song ; Rhyme it to your flowing sleeve, Ainur, aintrr .- c\'st a vivrc. Sleeve I said, but what's the haim It I really meant your arm ? Mine shall twine it by your leave, Aiiiu-r, aitncr ; c^st a vivre. Learning French is full of slips ; Do as I do with the lips ; Here's the right way, you perceive, Aii/hr, aimer ; t\'st a vivr,\ 20 r FKEXCH WITH A MASTER. I'Vciich is always spoken best IJrcatliins^ tk'cply from the chest ; Darling, does your bosom heave ? Aiiiii-r. aimer ; c\-st a vivre. Now, my dainty little sprite, 1 lave I taught your lesson right ." Then what pay shall I receive ? Aimer., aimer ; c^ est a vivre. Will you think me overbold It I linger to be told Whether you yourself believe Aimer, aimer ; e'esi a vivre / Pretty pupil, when you say All this French to me to-ilay, Do you mean it, or deceive ? Aimer, aimer ; c'est a xnvre. Tell me, may I understand, When I press your little hand. That our hearts together cleave ? Aimer, aimer ; e\'si a 7'/rvv. Have you in your tresses room For some orange buds to bloom, May I such a garland weave ? Aimer, aimer ; e'est n vivre. FRKXCH imril A MASTER. < )r, it I presume too much, Teiichiag French by sense of touch, (irant me pardon and reprieve ! Aiiiwr^ aimer ; c'cst a 7)ivrc. Sweetheart, no 1 you cannot go ! Let me sit and hold you so ; Adam did the same by Eve — AinuT, aimer ; c\'st a vivrc. LE GRENIKR— American Vkrsk.w. '• Dans nil gnmic-r tjn'on est l>icn a vivi^t nns/'' IJekancer. KUliERTSON TRi )\VHRII)(;E. T TKRI'^ is tlic street — the house is slaiuliiii^ yet ' Four stories up the httle wiiulow i;le;ims. The l)asemeiit still announces " Rooms to Let ; " Throuijh the wide door the dusty sunli;^'ht streams. Uut how the place has chant^ed I Across the way A tenement its swarminif bulk uprears— 'I'was here I weathered it for many a day. With Youtli and IIo})e for friends, at Twenty Years. A small hall-room ! I seek it half by stealth — Who cares ? the world may know it if it will ! The worst is told. 1 had stout heart, good hea!ll\ A modest clerkship, wants more modest still ; Companions, too (I had companions then !) — What room in all my " up-town jialace " hears Such peals of mirth as yonder little den When T and Youth kept house, at Twenty Years ! 204 LE GRENIKR 2 'Twas here I lirought my bride. In that dim place The too brief summer of our joy first smiled. Which of your carpet-knights, my queenly Grace, To such a lot will woo your mother's child ? Just powers ! how dared we to be gay and glad. To face the world, unvexed by cramping fears ? Rash? — reckless ? We were mad ! — -how nobly mad With the brave wine of Love and Twenty Years ! Once, as we listened at the window there, In the warm sunlight of an April day, iV sound of loyal thunder filled the air — The Massachusetts Si.xth marched down Broadway. O gallant hearts and times ! (J drum and fife ! In '62 I joined the volunteers. Poor wounded soldier, lonely waiting wife, We learned what glory meant, at Twenty Years ! It's time to go. The place looks chill and drear. Fate ! were it lot of mine to overlive But half the happy days I've counted here, I'd give — what have I that I would not give ? — Again to struggle on, to breast the tide. To know the worst of Fortune's frowns and fleers, Brave heart within, my darling by my side. And all the world to win, at Twenty Years ! UNDERSTOOD. EDITH SESSIONS Tll'rF.K. He Speaks. T)AINTED and perfumed, feathered and pink, Here is your ladyship's fan. You gave it to me to hold, I think, While you danced with another man. Downy and soft like your flufly hair. I'ink like your delicate face, The perfume you carry everywhere Wafted from feathers and lace. //.• rhinki. I'ainted and pcrlumed, dainty ami pink, A toy to Ijc handled with care ; It is like your ladyship's self I think. A trifle light as air. l'"iir you are a wunderlul triumph nt art. Like a Dresden statuette ; Hut you cannot make havoc in my i)oor heart, You iiuiocent- faced coquette. l'"i>r I understand those enticing ways You practice on every man ; You are only a hit of paint and lace Like that delicate toy — your fan. TO A JAPANESE BABY. HENRY TYRRELL. WOU dwell in a dove-cote, where tinkle The ornaments hung from the eaves, Strange trees shade it ; blossoms besprinkle The dark plumy leaves. Tea-garden and temple and fountain. From out the wide window you view ; And yonder, the snow-crested mountain High up in the blue. On bending your baby eyes nearer, Where slumbers the still-watered moat, You watch, like rose leaves on a mirror. The lotos blooms float. Your face is as brown as a berry. In outline as round as a rose ; Black slits of eyes, wakefully merry, Slant down to your nose. Your head, like a friar's, is shaven — How droll ! not a hair can one find. Except the tuft, black as a raven, That's twisted behind. TO A JAPANESE BABY. Around your form airily flutter Fantastic and bright-colored " things " ; Vou look like a gorgeous, rare butter- Fly, resting its wings. You've soft mats to romp on and tumble ; Of furniture, though, there's not much ; No breakage, to make grown folks grumble ■ No caution, " Don't touch ! " Your world is so simple and sunny. So pleasing and quaint to the eye — No wonder your plump face grows funny, But never can cry. We love you. Babe Bric-a-brac, dearly, Though ne'er have we been to Japan ; We know your wee dimpled face — merely Through this painted fan. MITTENS. HENRY TYRRELL. pURE frost winds, on the winter's eve, You play among my lady's tresses, And pink as apple-bloom you leave The cheeks that take your light caresses ; But from her Httle hands begone ! By you they'll not be kissed nor bitten, For over each is snugly drawn — A tiny pale-blue mitten. The slender, perfume-haunted glove, Erstwhile that hid her lily fingers. Is not the shield that most they love, Whereon a pressure honest lingers. More shy, confiding, tender, true. And softer than two curled-up kittens, Are those dear dainty twins of blue. My lady's little mittens. Once at the play, when lights were low, And down had dropped the great green curtain, I took her hand; we turned to go; Her fingers clasped o'er mine, I'm certain. 209 MITTENS That sudden thrill I feel again, That never could be told or written, Whene'er I see or touch, as then, Her downy little mitten. Some memories those mittens hold, And secrets, might one coax confession, Ah, dearer than a gage of gold I'd count if I could gain possession ; Yet ask her I shall never dare. Nor tell her how my heart is smitten. For fear, in answer to my prayer. She might " give me the mitten." MIS- MATCHED. HENKY TYRRELL. QNCE -'twas years ago- I f„u„d nie Moved by magic strange ; All accustomed earth around me, Dreamlike, felt the change. Berthe was fair. I learned to love her As a flower might do — For a moment's fondness of her Fain had withered, too, Such love, love does not discover ; And she never knew. Though to none could she be dearer, Though my heart was far sincerer Than the hearts of men, What could come of all this loving ? I was only ten. Other eyes, full-orbed and tender. Drop their curtains fine With a timid half surrender, Now, at glance of mine. M/S-MA TCHED. Praise, that elsewhere I seek vainly, Tempts a soft reply, Or she says, " I like you," plainly ; Edith is not shy. I but jest and laugh inanely. Or repress a sigh. Yes, I throw away the treasure (Not without a sense of pleasure, And a touch of pain). Wliat can come of all this loving ? She is onlv ten. "TETE MORNING AFTER." HAROLD VAN SANTVOORl). I HEARD a rustle in the hall, Where erst we stood 'mid waning tapers She met me in her breakfast-shawl, Her crimps all twisted in curl-papers ; The night before she looked a queen . In satin sheen and flufify laces. But now just where the rouge had been Har powder-puff had left its traces. Beneath the blazing chandelier I felt so shy and she so wary, My brain reeled with a sudden fear That she might prove a lissome fairy And vanish in a golden dream, On gauzy wings, if zephyrs wooed her, Away from aught that she might deem Tlie hateful bane of gross intruder. Alas ! a tantalizing shade, A cheat, she was, a vain delusion ! Is beauty ever thus to fade ? My mind has reached this sad conclusion. " Oh, face of nature, always true," The poet sang who never chaffed her ; But, lovely women, ye are few Whose faces lure " the morning after." HER FIRST TRAIN. A. E. WATROUS. \/i USES and Graces appear ! Fountain Pierian flow I Greuzc in tiie spirit be near 1 Aid me, O shade of Watteau I Ancients and moderns a-row. Strike me your worthiest strain. Little my theme do I know — 'Tis the young lady's First Train. Ah ! in my heart there is fear, Cliill in its coming as snow ; She who approacheth me here, Stately and sweeping and slow — Could I iiavc romped with her ? No. This duchess ? oh, dream most profane! All that was decades ago — 'Tis tiie young lady's First Train. a«4 HER FIRST TRAIN. How shall I suit her? It's clear Battledore, racquet, and how liarrcd arc and banned. In this sphere, Certes, I'm somewhat de Irop; Still, we accustomed may grow, Standing-ground common regain, Even if — presage of woe ! — 'Tis the young lady's First Train. l'envoi. Comrades, to friend and to foe Thus my changed jjcaring explain. Say : " If auglu's turned him a beau, 'Tis ihe young lady's First Train." OLD BOHEMIANS. A. E. WATROUS. r? HEU fugaccs ! wlicrc are they ? The creeping day, the flying night, The warmth, the color, clamor, light — Friend of the scythe and liour-glass say Eheu fugaces ! where are they ? Eiieu fugaces I where are they ? The songs we sang, the cups we quaffed. The eyes that shone, the lips that laughed — Old mower, went they by your way ? Eheu fugaces ! where are they ? Elieu fugaces ! where are they ? The lights that lined the lonely street, When lionieward tripped tlie dainty feet That fled against the glance of day — Elieu fugaces ! where are they ? Eheu fugaces ! where are they Who walked the ward, who trod tiie court ? Stout fellows all for toil or sport ; Ah, who shall break then he shall pay — Eheu fugaces ! where are they ? 216 OLD BOHEMIANS. 2 Eheu fugaces ! where are they ? The old jaw drops, the old veins freeze; And where is Lil and where's Louise, Whose kisses made a " yes " of " nay "— Eheu fugaces ! where are they ? Eheu fugaces ! where are they ? We've made our running, tossed our dice. And Time's are loaded. In a trice Perhaps a year, perhaps a day — They'll ask : " The garrulous and gray, Eheu fugaces ! where are they ? " iii:k na.mk was fki.ick. ClIARl.ES IIE.NRV WEIil'.. "\]17IIKN soft and sweet the sunuucr mo Smiled down, and all was peace. An(.l every pul.se of mine kept tune, I learned her name — Felice. J-'irst on the beaeli. then in the lirine, (Some thought it was my niece) She laid her little hand in mine. And said she was — Felice. .Vnd all who sat along the shore .\nd \\atched the tide's increase, JviR-w I was Felix, o'er and o'er, 1 )id they thiids her— Felice ? Still swinL;^ on high the self-same moon Still all around seems peace, Still sit I on the sandy dune. Hut where is she — Felice? The summer moon still swings on high- Oh, summer, must you cease? Infelicissimus am I ? Uut she is still — Felice. 2lS DISCARDED. CHARLES HENRY WElii: T AST night I lay on her breast ; To-day 1 liu at her feet ; Then to her heart I was pressed ; Now you tread on me, sweet I Ah, hghtly as possible pray — (irace tor your rose of last night ! It' perhaps I look faded to-day, Are you quite so fresh in this light ? And, though niee of you dropping that tear, There are some who may think it my due- Did it never occur to you, dear. That the flower may have wearied of you? 2ig IN A r,AV -WINDOW. CHARLES UlCNKY WEIil;. A II, yes, there's a change in the weather ; It does look a little Uke snow — Though in this recess it seems summer. And around us these red ruses blow. There is scarcely a theme we've nwt touched nn- Secluded. but talking at large From the latest lyric of Locker To the very last freak of Lafarge. And now it has come to the weather — As you say, there's a feeling of snow ; r.ul do you not think it was warmer In this window one winter ago ? Whose landscape, that one near the curtain ? It is good ? I really don't know ; I am thinking instead of the picture Seen then where lhe.se Jac<|uemini>is blow. IN A BA y-WI\DOn' lust tlic same sweet pidtiision of roses, A l.uly, a silken divan, A vase — was it WedsrewiKxl or jMinton ? — And a gentleman Iiolding a tail. Was the talk llien ot art and the weather ? Who could say ? for their voices wert; low ; But none then who saw them together Thought it looked in the slightest like snow. Must I look at that thing on the easel ? — Naughty nymph, and a bad Rouguereau ! But you plainly prefer any picture To the one whose eacli detail you know. You think it unwise to recall things? Unwise ! It is wrong, on my life I The weather's so different this winter — You are married — and I^have a wite. Around us the same crimson curtains. Just as warmly the Jacqueminots glow ; But I feel the same chill that you speak of — In the air there is certainly snow ! THK DUET. KLLA WHEELER WILCOX. 1 WAS smoking a cigarette ; Maud, my wife, and the tenor McKey Were singing together a blithe duel, And days it wore better I should forget Came suddenly back to me: Days when life seemed a gay masque ball, And to love and be loved was the sum of it all. As they ^ang t(jgether, the whole scene fled, — The room's rich hangings, the sweet home air. Stalely Maud, with her proud blonde head. And I seemed to see in her ])lace instead A wealth of blue black hair, ■Vnd a face, ah ! your face, — yours, Lisette, A face it were wiser I should forget. We were back — well, no matter when or where; l!ut you reniendjcr, 1 know, LisLtte — 1 saw you, dainty and debonnairc, Willi the very same look that you used t" wear In the days I should foiget ; .\nird's wing upon it. A nieml)er of the i\udul)Oii Society was she ; And cutting were her comments made on worldly folks like me. She spoke about the helpless birds we wickedly were harming She quoted the statistics, and they really Tccrc alarming. Slie said God meant his little birds to sing in trees and skies : And there was pathos in her voice. and tears w ere in her eyes. ILLOGICAL. " Oh, surely in tliis beauteous world you can find lovely things Enough to trim your hats," she said, ■'without the dear liirds' wings.' 1 sat beside her that same day, in her own house at dinner — Angelic being that she was to entertain a sinner. Her well-appointed table groaned beneath the ample spread. Course followed appetizing course, and hunger sated fled ; But still my charming hostess urged, " Do have a reed bird, dear, They are so delicate and sweet at this time of the year." HER BONNET. MARY E. WILKINS. A A /HEN meeting-bells began to toll, And pious folk begnn to pass, She deftly tied her l)onnet on, The little, sober meeting lass, All in her neat, white-curtained room, before licr lin^ looking-glass. So nicely, round her lady-checks, So smoothed her bands of glossy hair. And innocently wondered if Her bonnet did not make her fair — Then sternly chid her foolish heart for harboring such fancies there. So square she tied the satin strings, And set the bows beneath her chin ; Then smiled to see how sweet she looked ; Then thought her vanity a sin. And she must jnit such thoughts away before the sermon should begin. 22C ^ HER BONNET. 227 But, sitting 'neath the preached Word, Demurely in her father's pew, She thought about her bonnet still,— Yes, all the parson's sermon through, — About its pretty bows and buds which better than the text she knew. Vet sitting there with peaceful face, The reflex of her simple soul, She looked to be a very saint — And maybe was one, on the whole — Only that her pretty bonnet kepi' away the aureole. Finis. <4 i 4 •^ i LIBRARY OF CONGRtSS 017 197 253 A #